.- 


I 


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THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 


7^V  UNIFORM  STYLE 
Each  compiled  by  ALFRED  H.  HYATT 

THE  CHARM  OF  LONDON 

With  Twelve  Illustrations  in  Colour  by  YOSHIO  MARKIKO 

THE  CHARM  OF  VENICE 

With  Twelve  Illustrations  in  Colour  by  HARALD    SUND 

THE  CHARM  OF  PARIS 

With  Twelve  Illustrations  in  Colour  by  HARRY  MOW.IT 

THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

With  Twelve  Illustrations  in  Colour  by  HARRY  MORLKT 
PHILADELPHIA:  GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO. 


HK;H  STREET,  EDINBURGH 


THE 

CHARM   OF  EDINBURGH 

AN   ANTHOLOGY 

• 

COMPILED  BY  ALFRED  H.  HYATT 
WITH   12   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY   HARRY    MORLEY 


PHILADELPHIA 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


PRINTED  IN  ENGLAND 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

EDINBURGH  has  been  praised  by  many  famous  pens. 
The  city's  beautiful  situation  has  afforded  theme 
for  the  poet ;  the  romances  of  its  streets  have  pre- 
sented the  novelist  with  plots  for  tales  of  supreme 
interest ;  and  in  dealing  with  its  past  life  the  histori- 
ographer finds  ample  and  rich  material. 

In  the  following  pages  have  been  gathered  together 
poems  and  prose  passages  which  illustrate  the  charm 
of  Edinburgh.  These,  collected  under  various  sec- 
tions, introduce  many  famous  names,  and  afford 
delightful  word-pictures  of  the  scenery  and  life  of 
the  Northern  metropolis. 

A.  H.  H. 

To  the  present  edition  have  been  added  twelve 
illustrations  after  the  water-colour  drawings  of  Mr. 
HARRY  MORLEY. 

September^  1913, 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

FOR  permission  kindly  given  to  include  copyright 
passages  and  poems,  the  compiler  desires  to  tender 
his  thanks  to  the  following  authors  and  publishers  : 
To  Mr.  Edward  Arnold  for  two  extracts  from  '  The 
Life  and  Letters  of  Maria  Edge  worth  ';  to  Messrs. 
Seeley  and  Co.  for  an  extract  from  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson's  '  Edinburgh  :  Picturesque  Notes ';  to 
Mr.  J.  M.  Barrie  for  an  extract  from  '  Margaret 
Ogilvy  '  (Messrs.  Hodder  and  Stoughton) ;  to  Messrs. 
W.  P.  Nimmo,  Hay,  and  Mitchell  for  extracts  from 
Hugh  Miller's  works  and  Alexander  Smith's  poem 
'  Edinburgh ';  to  Messrs.  Macmillan  and  Co.  for 
an  extract  from  Maurice  Hewlett's  '  The  Queen's 
Quair ';  to  The  Macmillan  Co.  for  extracts  from 
William  Winter's  '  Gray  Days  and  Gold ';  to  Mr. 
T.  Fisher  Unwin  and  Mr.  S.  R.  Crockett  for  an  extract 
from  '  The  Stickit  Minister ';  to  Messrs.  James 
Clarke  and  Co.  and  Mr.  S.  R.  Crockett  for  extracts 
from  '  Kid  McGhie  '  and  '  Kit  Kennedy ';  to  Mr.  W. 
Brown  for  an  extract  from  Joseph  Taylor's  '  A 
Journey  to  Edenborough  in  1705  ';  to  Mr.  Gordon 
Wordsworth  for  an  extract  from  Dorothy  Words- 


viii  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

worth's  '  Recollections  of  a  Tour  in  Scotland '  (Mr. 
David  Douglas) ;  to  Miss  Rosaline  Masson  for  an 
extract  from  '  In  Our  Town  '  (Messrs.  Hodder  and 
Stoughton)  ;  to  the  editors  of  The  Scotsman  and  The 
Spectator  and  Mr.  Will  H.  Ogilvie  respectively  for 
two  poems,  '  Holyrood  '  and  '  Spring  in  Scotland  ';  to 
Mr.  Fred.  G.  Bowles  for  '  A  Northern  Song ' ;  to  Mr. 
David  Nutt  for  poems  by  W.  E.  Henley ;  to  Miss 
Christabel  Massey  for  poems  from  Gerald  Massey's 
'  My  Lyrical  Life  ';  to  Messrs.  Chatto  and  Windus 
for  various  passages  and  poems  from  those  of  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson's  books  which  they  control ;  to 
Mr.  Alfred  Noyes  for  a  poem  ;  to  Mr.  Henry  Johnston 
for  two  poems  ;  to  Mr.  John  Drinkwater  for  a  poem  ; 
and  to  Mrs.  Moulton  for  an  extract  from  '  Random 
Rambles.' 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

EDINA'S  CHARM  i 

THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  37 

EDINBURGH  TOWN  71 

IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  125 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH  153 

SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  191 

ROYAL  EDINBURGH  243 

CASTLE  AND  PALACE  279 

CLOSE  AND  WYND  305 

A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS  331 

THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  373 

THE  SEASONS  IN  EDINBURGH  419 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  433 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

HIGH  STREET,  EDINBURGH  Frontispiece 

OLD  EDINBURGH  FROM  WAVERLEY  BRIDGB  Tofaufage  22 

EDINBURGH  FROM  CALTON  HILL  72 

A  VIEW  FROM  CALTON  HILL  152 

THE  CASTLE  FROM  GRASSMARKBT  186 

PRINCES  STREET,  LOOKING  EAST  228 

HOLYROOD  282 

THE  CASTLE  AND  THE  SCOTT  MEMORIAL  302 

LADY  STAIR'S  CLOSE  324 

JOHN  KNOX'S  HOUSE  344 

ARTHUR'S  SEAT,  HOLYROOD,  AND  THE  BURNS  MONUMENT  382 


THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 


EDINA'S  CHARM 


The  combination  of  historic  association  with  a  matchless 
beauty  which  no  change  can  efface  gives  Edinburgh  her 
supreme  attraction.  By  universal  judgment,  Edinburgh  has 
a  place,  possibly  the  highest  place,  in  the  small  group  of  the 
great  towns  of  Europe  conspicuous  for  romance  and  physical 
charm. 

SIR    HENRY    CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN. 

I 

Venice,  it  has  been  said,  differs  from  all  other  cities  in  the 
sentiment  which  she  inspires.  The  rest  may  have  admirers  ; 
she  only,  a  famous  fair  one,  counts  lovers  in  her  train.  And, 
indeed,  even  by  her  kindest  friends,  Edinburgh  is  not  con- 
sidered in  a  similar  sense.  These  like  her  for  many  reasons, 
not  any  one  of  which  is  satisfactory  in  itself.  They  like  her 
whimsically,  if  you  will,  and  somewhat  as  a  virtuoso  dotes 
upon  his  cabinet.  Her  attraction  is  romantic  in  the  nar- 
rowest meaning  of  the  term.  Beautiful  as  she  is,  she  is  not  so 
much  beautiful  as  interesting.  She  is  pre-eminently  Gothic, 
and  all  the  more  so  since  she  has  set  herself  off  with  some 
Greek  airs,  and  erected  classic  temples  on  her  crags. 

ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON. 


EDINBURGH  : 

THE  FAMOUS  METROPOLIS  OF  THE  NORTH 

THE  ancient  and  famous  metropolis  of  the  North  sits 
overlooking  a  windy  estuary  from  the  slope  and 
summit  of  three  hills.  No  situation  could  be  more 
commanding  for  the  head  city  of  a  kingdom  ;  none 
better  chosen  for  noble  prospects.  From  her  tall 
precipice  and  terraced  gardens  she  looks  far  and  wide 
on  the  sea  and  broad  champaigns.  .  .  .  Meditative 
people  will  find  a  charm  in  a  certain  consonancy  be- 
tween the  aspect  of  the  city  and  its  odd  and  stirring 
history.  Few  places,  if  any,  offer  a  more  barbaric 
display  of  contrasts  to  the  eye.  In  the  very  midst 
stands  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  crags  in  Nature — 
a  Bass  Rock  upon  dry  land,  rooted  in  a  garden  shaken 
by  passing  trains,  carrying  a  crown  of  battlements  and 
turrets,  and  describing  its  war-like  shadow  over  the 
liveliest  and  brightest  thoroughfare  of  the  new  town. 
From  their  smoky  beehives,  ten  stories  high,  the  un- 
washed look  down  upon  the  open  squares  and  gar- 
dens of  the  wealthy  ;  and  gay  people,  sunning  them- 
selves along  Princes  Street,  with  its  mile  of  com- 
mercial palaces  all  beflagged  upon  some  great  occa- 
sion, see,  across  a  gardened  valley  set  with  statues, 
where  the  washings  of  the  Old  Town  flutter  in  the 
breeze  at  its  high  windows.  And  then,  upon  all  sides, 
what  a  clashing  of  architecture  !  In  this  one  valley, 
where  the  life  of  the  town  goes  most  busily  forward, 
there  may  be  seen,  shown  one  above  and  behind 
another  by  the  accidents  of  the  ground,  buildings  in 

1—2 


4  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

almost  every  style  upon  the  globe.  Egyptian  and 
Greek  temples,  Venetian  palaces  and  Gothic  spires, 
are  huddled  one  over  another  in  a  most  admired  dis- 
order ;  while,  above  all,  the  brute  mass  of  the  Castle 
and  the  summit  of  Arthur's  Seat  look  down  upon 
these  imitations  with  a  becoming  dignity,  as  the  works 
of  Nature  may  look  down  upon  the  monuments  of 
Art.  But  Nature  is  a  more  indiscriminate  patroness 
than  we  imagine,  and  in  no  way  frightened  of  a 
strong  effect.  The  birds  roost  as  willingly  among 
the  Corinthian  capitals  as  in  the  crannies  of  the  crag  ; 
the  same  atmosphere  and  daylight  clothe  the  eternal 
rock  and  yesterday's  imitation  portico  ;  and  as  the 
soft  northern  sunshine  throws  out  everything  into 
a  glorified  distinctness,  or  easterly  mists,  coming  up 
with  the  blue  evening,  fuse  all  these  incongruous 
features  into  one,  and  the  lamps  begin  to  glitter 
along  the  street,  and  faint  lights  to  burn  in  the  high 
windows  across  the  valley,  the  feeling  grows  upon 
you  that  this  also  is  a  piece  of  Nature  in  the  most 
intimate  sense  ;  that  this  profusion  of  eccentricities, 
this  dream  in  masonry  and  living  rock,  is  not  a  drop- 
scene  in  a  theatre,  but  a  city  in  the  world  of  every- 
day reality. 

ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


A  SPOT  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

VERSES   WRITTEN   AT    THE    HERMITAGE  OF   BRAID,    NEAR 
EDINBURGH 

WOULD  you  relish  a  rural  retreat, 

Or  the  pleasure  the  groves  can  inspire, 

The  city's  allurements  forget, 

To  this  spot  of  enchantment  retire, 


EDINA'S  CHARM  5 

Where  a  valley,  and  crystalline  brook, 
Whose  current  glides  sweetly  along, 

Give  Nature  a  fanciful  look, 

The  beautiful  woodlands  among. 

Behold  the  umbrageous  trees 
A  covert  of  verdure  have  spread, 

Where  shepherds  may  loll  at  their  ease, 
And  pipe  to  the  musical  shade  : 

For,  lo  !  thro'  each  op'ning  is  heard, 

In  concert  with  waters  below, 
The  voice  of  a  musical  bird, 

Whose  numbers  do  gracefully  flow. 

The  bushes  and  arbours  so  green, 
The  tendrils  of  spray  interwove, 

With  foliage  shelter  the  scene, 
And  form  a  retirement  for  love. 

Here  Venus  transported  may  rove 
From  pleasure  to  pleasure  unseen, 

Nor  wish  for  the  Cyprian  grove 
Her  youthful  Adonis  to  screen. 

Oft  let  me  contemplative  dwell 

On  a  scene  where  such  beauties  appear  ; 

I  could  live  in  a  cot  or  a  cell, 
And  never  think  solitude  near. 

ROBERT   FERGUSSON. 
'  OUR  TOWN  ' 

OUR  Town,  like  the  Castle,  is  in  itself  complete. 
Metaphorically  speaking,  it  is  a  walled  city,  having 
within  its  walls  all  that  it  finds  necessary  for  its  exist- 


6  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

ence.  It  has  its  social  life,  its  intellectual  life,  its 
religious  life, — all  within  its  own  metaphorical  walls. 
And  so  it  happens  that  people  may  come  to  Our 
Town  and  make  it  their  home  for  years,  and  take  no 
hold  of  it,  remaining  in  it  and  yet  not  of  it. 

Criticized  as  a  picture,  Our  Town  may  be  lacking 
in  colour  :  regarded  as  a  photograph,  it  is  the  most 
beautiful  city  in  the  world.  We  all  know  that  we 
live  in  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world.  Strangers 
may  jest  or  grumble,  according  to  their  natures  and 
tempers,  about  our  climate  ;  but  we  can  afford  to 
smile.  Who  would  be  such  a  boor  as  to  cavil  at  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world  because  her 
temper  was  not  equable  ? 

I  happened  to  be  the  only  man  at  a  large  afternoon 
tea-gathering  the  other  day,  and  I  was  trying  to  make 
myself  inconspicuous  in  the  doorway  until  some 
other  man  should  arrive  to  bear  me  company,  or  until 
I  could  make  good  my  escape.  In  this  position  I 
overheard  the  greetings  and  conversations  of  two 
ladies.  They  were  both  natives  of  Our  Town,  and 
knew  each  other  intimately  ;  but  the  exigencies  of 
marriage  had  torn  one  away  for  a  few  years.  They 
sank  down  by  one  another  on  a  sofa  inside  the  door- 
way, and  pressed  each  other's  hands. 

'  It  is  a  beautiful  town,  is  it  not  ?'  asked  she  who 
had  remained  in  it. 

'  It  is  indeed  !'  replied  the  other  fervently.  '  Coming 
back  to  Our  Town  after  living  elsewhere,  one  is  struck 
afresh  by  it !' 

'  Ah,  you  will  be !'  answered  the  first  sympatheti- 
cally. '  Indeed,  I  never  go  out  but  I  say  to  myself, 
"  What  a  beautiful  city  it  is  we  live  in, — the 
Castle "  ' 


EDINA'S  CHARM  7 

'  And  such  broad  streets  !' 

'  And  the  public  gardens  !' 

'  And  the  magnificent  buildings  !' 

'  And  the  Old  Town — so  picturesque  !' 

'  And  the  New  Town — so  regular  !' 

'  Ah,  it  is  a  beautiful  city  !' 

Do  you,  in  other  towns,  say  all  this  when  you  meet 
after  a  few  years'  separation,  I  wonder  ? 

Our  dear  old  Town  !  We  boast  that  it,  like  Rome, 
is  spread  amid  seven  hills  ;  but  its  grey  old  back- 
bone lies  jagged  and  worn  along  a  single  ridge  from 
its  Castle  on  the  height  to  its  Palace  in  the  depth  ; 
and  every  vertebra  of  that  ancient  backbone  is  rich 
in  crusted  association  and  legend  and  tragedy  and 
history.  Our  dear  old  Town,  with  its  haze  of  blue- 
grey  smoke  hanging  over  it  by  day,  and  its  hundreds 
of  twinkling  lights  by  night  !  Cold  and  grey  and 
hard  and  beautiful,  it  is  like  some  exquisite  pearl 
flung  up  on  the  shores  of  the  misty  sea. 

ROSALINE    MASSON. 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  EDINBURGH 

EVERY  true  Scotsman  believes  Edinburgh  to  be  the 
most  picturesque  city  in  the  world  ;  and  truly,  stands 
ing  on  the  Calton  Hill  at  early  morning,  when  the 
smoke  of  fires  newly  kindled  hangs  in  azure  swathe, 
and  veils  about  the  Old  Town — which  from  that 
point  resembles  a  huge  lizard,  the  Castle  its  head- 
church-spires  spikes  upon  its  scaly  back,  creeping 
up  from  its  lair  beneath  the  Crags  to  look  out  on  the 
morning  world — one  is  quite  inclined  to  pardon  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  North  Briton.  The  finest  view 
from  the  interior  is  obtained  from  the  corner  of 


8  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

St.  Andrew  Street,  looking  west.  Straight  before 
you  the  Mound  crosses  the  valley,  bearing  the  white 
Academy  buildings  ;  beyond,  the  Castle  lifts,  from 
grassy  slopes  and  billows  of  summer  foliage,  its 
weather-stained  towers  and  fortifications,  the  Hall- 
Moon  battery  giving  the  folds  of  its  standard  to  the 
wind.  Living  in  Edinburgh  there  abides,  above  all 
things,  a  sense  of  its  beauty.  Hill,  crag,  castle,  rock, 
blue  stretch  of  sea,  the  picturesque  ridge  of  the  Old 
Town,  the  squares  and  terraces  of  the  New — these 
things  seen  once  are  not  to  be  forgotten.  The  quick 
life  of  to-day  sounding  around  the  relics  of  antiquity, 
and  overshadowed  by  the  august  traditions  of  a 
kingdom,  makes  residence  in  Edinburgh  more  im- 
pressive than  residence  in  any  other  British  city.  I 
have  just  come  in — surely  it  never  looked  so  fair 
before  ?  What  a  poem  is  that  Princes  Street  !  The 
puppets  of  the  busy,  many-coloured  hour  move  about 
on  its  pavement,  while  across  the  ravine  Time  has 
piled  up  the  Old  Town,  ridge  on  ridge,  grey  as  a 
rocky  coast  washed  and  worn  by  the  foam  of  cen- 
turies ;  peaked  and  jagged  by  gable  and  roof  ;  win- 
dowed from  basement  to  cope  ;  the  whole  surmounted 
by  St.  Giles's  airy  crown.  The  New  is  there  looking 
at  the  Old.  Two  Times  are  brought  face  to  face,  and 
are  yet  separated  by  a  thousand  years.  Wonderful 
on  winter  nights,  when  the  gully  is  filled  with  dark- 
ness, and  out  of  it  rises,  against  the  sombre  blue  and 
the  frosty  stars,  that  mass  and  bulwark  of  gloom, 
pierced  and  quivering  with  innumerable  lights. 
There  is  nothing  in  Europe  to  match  that,  I  think. 
Could  you  but  roll  a  river  down  the  valley  it  would  be 
sublime.  Finer  still,  to  place  one's  self  near  the 
Burns  Monument  and  look  toward  the  Castle.  It  is 


EDINA'S  CHARM  9 

more  astonishing  than  an  Eastern  dream.  A  city 
rises  up  before  you  painted  by  fire  on  night.  High 
in  air  a  bridge  of  lights  leaps  the  chasm  ;  a  few 
emerald  lamps,  like  glow-worms,  are  moving  silently 
about  in  the  railway  station  below ;  a  solitary 
crimson  one  is  at  rest.  That  ridged  and  chimneyed 
bulk  of  blackness,  with  splendour  bursting  out  at 
every  pore,  is  the  wonderful  Old  Town,  where  Scottish 
history  mainly  transacted  itself ;  while,  opposite, 
the  modern  Princes  Street  is  blazing  throughout  its 
length.  During  the  day  the  Castle  looks  down 
upon  the  city  as  if  out  of  another  world  ;  stern  with 
all  its  peacefulness,  its  garniture  of  trees,  its  slopes  of 
grass.  The  rock  is  dingy  enough  in  colour,  but  after 
a  shower,  its  lichens  laugh  out  greenly  in  the  returning 
sun,  while  the  rainbow  is  brightening  on  the  lower- 
ing sky  beyond.  How  deep  the  shadow  which  the 
Castle  throws  at  noon  over  the  gardens  at  its  feet 
where  the  children  play  !  How  grand  when  giant 
bulk  and  towery  crown  blacken  against  sunset  ! 
Fair,  too,  the  New  Town  sloping  to  the  sea.  From 
George  Street,  which  crowns  the  ridge,  the  eye  is 
led  down  sweeping  streets  of  stately  architecture  to 
the  villas  and  woods  that  fill  the  lower  ground,  and 
fringe  the  shore  ;  to  the  bright  azure  belt  of  the 
Forth,  with  its  smoking  steamer  or  its  creeping  sail ; 
beyond,  to  the  shores  of  Fife,  soft  blue,  and  flecked 
with  fleeting  shadows  in  the  keen,  clear  light  of 
spring,  dark  purple  in  the  summer  heat,  tarnished 
gold  in  the  autumn  haze  ;  and  farther  away  still, 
just  distinguishable  on  the  paler  sky,  the  crest 
of  some  distant  peak,  carrying  the  imagination 
into  the  illimitable  world.  Residence  in  Edin- 
burgh is  an  education  in  itself.  Its  beauty  refines 


io  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

one  like  being  in  love.  It  is  perennial,  like  a  play 
of  Shakespeare's.  Nothing  can  stale  its  infinite 
variety. 

ALEXANDER   SMITH. 


EDINBURGH'S  CALL 

THE  tropics  vanish,  and  meseems  that  I, 
From  Halkerside,  from  topmost  Allermuir, 
Or  steep  Caerketton,  dreaming  gaze  again. 
Far  set  in  fields  and  woods,  the  town  I  see 
Spring  gallant  from  the  shadows  of  her  smoke, 
Cragged,  spired,  and  turreted,  her  virgin  fort 
Beflagged.     About,  on  seaward-drooping  hills, 
New  folds  of  city  glitter.     Last,  the  Forth 
Wheels  ample  waters  set  with  sacred  isles, 
And    populous     Fife    smokes    with    a    score    of 
towns. 

There,  on  the  sunny  frontage  of  a  hill, 
Hard  by  the  house  of  kings,  repose  the  dead, 
My  dead,  the  ready  and  the  strong  of  word. 
Their  works,  the  salt-encrusted,  still  survive  ; 
The  sea   bombards   their    founded    towers ;     the 

night 
Thrills    pierced    with    their    strong    lamps.     The 

artificers, 

One  after  one,  here  in  this  grated  cell, 
Where  the  rain  erases,  and  the  rust  consumes, 
Fell  upon  lasting  silence.     Continents 
And  continental  oceans  intervene  ; 
A  sea  unchartered,  on  a  lampless  isle, 
Environs  and  confines  their  wandering  child 
In  vain.     The  voice  of  generations  dead 


EDINA'S  CHARM  u 

Summons  me,  sitting  distant,  to  arise, 
My  numerous  footsteps  nimbly  to  retrace, 
And,  all  mutation  over,  stretch  me  down 
In  that  denoted  city  of  the  dead. 

ROBERT  LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


EDINBURGH'S  STATELY  BEAUTY 

IT  is  a  long  trip  from  London  to  Edinburgh,  but  if 
you  take  the  Flying  Scotchman,  you  do  it  in  ten 
hours.  The  Flying  Scotchman  is  the  fast  express, 
which  makes  only  three  or  four  stops  between  the 
two  cities,  and  goes,  I  believe,  at  the  rate  of  sixty 
miles  an  hour.  It  does,  indeed,  seem  like  flying.  A 
bird  on  rapid  wing  must  get  much  such  glimpses  of 
the  world  about  him  as  we  got,  tearing  on  through 
the  country,  that  long  day. 

We  reached  Edinburgh  in  the  evening.  The  friend 
we  were  to  visit  was  glad  of  this  ;  for  he  was  an 
American  of  Scotch  descent,  and  had  enough  of  a 
Scotchman's  pride  in  Edinburgh  to  want  us  first  to 
see  '  The  Castle '  in  all  its  morning  glory.  Every- 
body talks  of  the  Castle  when  you  are  in  Edinburgh. 
You  cannot  forget  it  if  you  would,  for  it  dominates 
everything,  and  it  is  the  heart  of  everything. 

Edinburgh  is  a  city  of  hills  and  vaUeys.  Castle 
Rock,  as  the  site  of  the  Castle  is  called,  is  soms  seven 
hundred  feet  in  circumference,  and  on  three  sides  it 
is  just  bare  rock,  so  precipitous  that  foot  of  man  could 
hardly  scale  it.  Accessible  only  on  one  side,  a 
place  more  perfectly  adapted  for  a  fortress  can  scarcely 
be  imagined. 

The  old  grey  Castle  itself  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
pressive of  buildings.  Whether  you  see  it  at  sun- 


12  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

rise,  at  high  noon,  in  the  tender  twilight  time,  or 
when  the  pale  moon  visits  it,  it  is  alike  beautiful  ; 
but  I  think  the  view  of  it  which  will  linger  longest  in 
my  memory  is  that  I  had  one  afternoon  when  I  sat 
on  a  green  bank  in  the  Princes  Street  Gardens.  The 
sun  sank  lower  and  lower,  until  at  last  the  valley  was 
in  shadow,  while  all  the  sunset  glow  and  glory  rested 
on  the  grey  old  Castle,  making  its  windows  flame  like 
opals. 

I  remember  Edinburgh  and  the  region  round  it 
in  a  series  of  pictures.  The  buildings  are  all  of 
stone, — a  fine-grained  sandstone,  which  is  quite 
equal  in  beauty  to  marble.  It  is  susceptible  of  the 
utmost  delicacy  of  carving,  and  it  so  well  resists  the 
effects  of  time  and  the  weather  as  to  retain  longer 
than  almost  any  other  stone  its  freshness  of  aspect. 
Arthur's  Seat  attracted  me  most  among  the  many 
hills.  The  Seat  itself  is  a  great  rock  at  the  very  top 
of  the  hill,  in  which  you  can  trace  a  sort  of  fantastic 
resemblance  to  a  chair. 

I  sat  there  on  the  jagged  old  rock,  and  looked  forth 
with  such  a  swelling  at  my  heart  as  I  cannot  at  all 
put  into  words.  I  have  seldom  if  ever  seen  a  view 
at  once  so  extended  and  so  lovely.  Edinburgh  lay 
spread  out  there  in  all  its  stately  beauty.  Other 
more  distant  hills  confronted  you  with  their  solemn 
peace.  Off  at  one  side  was  Leith,  the  seaport  of 
Edinburgh,  and  beyond  it  the  sea,  blue,  bright, 
illimitable.  It  was  worth  a  much  harder  climb  to 
look  upon  such  a  scene. 

LOUISE   CHANDLER   MOULTON. 


EDINA'S  CHARM  13 

'  A  GRAN'  SPEECH  ' 

Shepherd.  Mr.  North,  sir  ;  gie's  ane  o'  your  gran' 
speeches.  I  want  to  fa'  asleep. 

North,  Yes,  Edina,  thou  art  indeed  a  noble  city, 
a  metropolis  worthy  the  land  of  Mountain  and  of 
Flood,  Glen,  Forest,  Loch,  and  long-winding  arms  of 
Ocean.  Queen  of  the  North  !  which  of  thy  august 
shrines  dost  thou  love  the  best  ?  The  Castle  Cliff, 
within  whose  hoary  battlements  Kings  were  born  ; 
the  Green  Hill  looking  down  on  deserted  Holyrood  ; 
the  crags  smitten  into  grandeur  and  beauty  by  time 
and  the  elements ;  or  the  Mountain,  like  a  lion 
couchant,  reposing  in  the  sky  ? 

Shepherd.  Losh  me  !  that's  beautifu'  language. 

North.  The  glorious  works  of  Nature  everywhere 
overshadow  those  of  men's  hands,  and  her  primeval 
spirit  yet  reigns,  with  paramount  and  prevailing 
power,  over  the  region  that  art  has  made  magnificent 
with  spires,  towers,  temples,  and  palaces  ! 

Shepherd.  Nane  o'  your  asthmatic  coughs  ;  on  wi' 
ye,  on  wi'  ye,  ye  deevil. 

North.  Wheel  round  the  city,  as  on  eagle's  wing, 
skimming  the  edge  of  the  smoke,  and  the  din,  and 
the  tumult,  in  itself  a  world,  yet  bordered  how 
beautifully  by  another  world  of  plains,  woods,  and 
ranges  of  hills,  and  that  glorious  Firth,  all  silent, 
serene,  sublime ;  and  overhead  a  heaven  swept  into 
cloudless  azure  by  the  sea-blasts,  and  stretching 
out  an  ample  circumference  for  the  path  of  the 
sun  ! 

Shepherd.  Eh  ?  Was  ye  speaking  to  me  ?  Oo 
ay,  it's  a  gude  jug. 

North.  Eastward  :  those  are  ships  hanging  afar  off 


14  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

between  wave  and  weather-gleam  ;  westward  :  those 
are  not  clouds,  but  snow-capt  mountains,  whose 
sides  are  thundering  with  cataracts,  and  round  whose 
bases  lie  a  hundred  lakes.  .  .  .  The  eye  needs  not, 
here,  the  aid  of  Imagination ;  but  Imagination  will  not, 
in  such  a  scene,  suffer  the  eye  to  be  without  her  aid. 
The  past  and  the  future  she  makes  to  darken  or 
brighten  on  the  present — the  limits  of  the  horizon 
she  extends  afar — and  around  '  stately  Edinburgh, 
throned  on  craggs,'  arises  a  vision  of  old  Scotland 
from  sea  to  sea  ! 

Shepherd  (starting).  Lord,    sirs,    I    thocht    I    had 
coupit  ower  a  precipice  just  then. 

CHRISTOPHER   NORTH. 


MAGNIFICENT  EDINBURGH 

THE  situation  of  Edinburgh  is  probably  as  extra- 
ordinary an  one  as  can  well  be  imagined  for  a  me- 
tropolis. The  immense  hills,  on  which  great  part  of 
it  is  built,  make  the  views  uncommonly  magnificent. 
You  have  seen  the  famous  street  at  Lisle,  la  Rue 
Royale,  leading  to  the  port  of  Tournay,  which  is  said 
to  be  the  finest  in  Europe  ;  but  which  I  can  assure 
you  is  not  to  be  compared  either  in  length  or  breadth 
to  the  High  Street  at  Edinburgh  ;  and  would  they  be 
at  the  expense  of  removing  some  buildings  which 
obstruct  the  view,  by  being  placed  in  the  middle  of 
the  street,  nothing  could  be  conceived  more  mag- 
nificent. ...  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt  but  that 
the  High  Street  in  Edinburgh  is  inhabited  by  a 
greater  number  of  persons  than  any  street  in  Europe. 
The  ground  floors  and  cellars  are  in  general  made 
use  of  for  shops  by  the  tradesmen  ;  who  here  Style 


EDINA'S  CHARM  15 

themselves  merchants,  as  in  France  ;  and  the  higher 
houses  are  possessed  by  the  genteeler  people. 

In  London,  you  know,  such  an  habitation  would 
not  be  deemed  the  most  eligible,  and  many  a  man  in 
such  a  situation  would  not  be  sorry  to  descend  a  little 
lower.  The  style  of  building  here  has  given  rise  to 
different  ideas  :  Some  years  ago  a  Scotch  gentleman, 
who  went  to  London  for  the  first  time,  took  the  upper- 
most storey  of  a  lodging  house,  and  was  very  much 
surprised  to  find  what  he  thought  the  genteelest  place 
in  the  whole  at  the  lowest  price.  His  friends  who 
came  to  see  him,  in  vain  acquainted  him  with  the 
mistake  he  had  been  guilty  of.  '  He  ken'd  vera 
weel,'  he  said,  '  what  gentility  was,  and  when  he 
lived  all  his  life  in  a  sixth  storey,  he  was  not  come  to 
London  to  live  upon  the  ground.' 

From  the  left  of  the  High  Street  you  pass  down 
by  a  number  of  different  alleys,  or  as  they  call  them 
here,  wynds  and  closes,  to  the  different  parts  of  the 
Old  Town.  They  are  many  of  them  so  very  steep  that 
it  requires  great  attention  to  the  feet  to  prevent 
falling ;  but  so  well  accustomed  are  the  Scotch  to 
that  position  of  body  required  in  descending  these 
declivities,  that  I  have  seen  a  Scotch  girl  run  down 
them  with  great  swiftness  in  pattens.  .  .  . 

After  all  the  agreeable  hours  I  have  passed  here, 
the  remembrance  of  which  will  ever  be  dear  to  me,  I 
am  on  the  point  of  taking  my  leave  of  this  kingdom. 
Travellers,  you  know,  generally  affect  a  sorrow  on 
parting  with  those  who  have  received  them  civilly, 
and  sometimes  probably  may  feel  one.  But  I  can 
assure  you  that  on  this  occasion  it  is  not  necessary 
'  to  assume  a  virtue  which  I  have  not.'  I  am  so 
well  convinced  of  the  merit  of  those  I  leave  behind 


16  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

me,  that  I  feel  the  most  sincere  regret  for  my  de- 
parture. 

The  wandering  life  I  have  hitherto  led  has  by  no 
means  extinguished  these  sensations  ;  for,  though  I 
despise  all  attachments  to  this  place  or  the  other, 
merely  for  being  such,  I  make  it  my  study  to  conform, 
as  far  as  I  can,  to  the  opinions,  and  even  to  the 
prejudices  of  every  country  into  which  I  go.  Every 
man  should  do  so,  because  it  is  the  means  of  making 
his  own  happiness. 

The  little  time  I  have  now  left  me  must  be  employed 
in  acknowledging  the  numerous  civilities  I  have 
received,  and  in  parting  from  those  I  most  esteem. 
I  wish  this  last  office  over,  for  it  is  a  very  painful  one, 
and  answers  no  one  purpose  that  I  know  of  but  that 
of  making  us  more  melancholy.  Were  I  to  spare  my 
own  feelings  alone  on  this  occasion,  I  might  probably 
be  willing  to  escape  without  the  ceremonies  of  an 
audience  ;  but  the  gratitude  I  owe  the  Scotch  must 
make  me  forego  such  a  thought. 

CAPTAIN   TOPHAM   (1775). 


QUEEN  OF  THE  UNCONQUERED  NORTH 

THEN  proudly  fling  thy  white  arms  to  the  sea, 
Queen  of  the  unconquered  North  !  lo  !  yonder  deep, 
With  all  his  subject  waves,  doth  worship  thee  ! 
Stately  thou  sittest  on  thy  mountain  throne, 
Thy  towers  and  temples  like  a  cloudy  sky  ; 
And  scarce  can  tell  what  fabrics  are  thine  own, 
Hung  'mid  the  air-built  phantoms  floating  by. 
Oh  !  ne'er  may  that  bright  diadem  be  shorn, 
By  thee,  for  many  an  age,  majestically  worn  ! 

PROFESSOR   WILSON. 


EDINA'S  CHARM  17 

A  HOT-BED  OF  GENIUS 

I  SHOULD  be  very  ungrateful,  dear  Lewis,  if  I  did  not 
find  myself  disposed  to  think  and  speak  favourably 
of  this  people,  among  whom  I  have  met  with  more 
kindness,  hospitality,  and  rational  entertainment  in 
a  few  weeks,  than  ever  I  received  in  any  other 
country  during  the  whole  course  of  my  life.  .  .  . 
Edinburgh  is  a  hot-bed  of  genius.  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  made  acquainted  with  many  authors 
of  the  first  distinction,  such  as  the  two  Humes, 
Robertson,  Smith,  Wallace,  Blair,  Fergusson,  Wilkie, 
etc.,  and  I  have  found  them  all  as  agreeable  in  con- 
versation as  they  are  instructive  and  entertaining  in 
their  writings.  .  .  .  Though  this  city,  from  the  nature 
of  its  situation,  can  never  be  made  either  very 
convenient  or  very  cleanly,  it  has  nevertheless  an 
air  of  magnificence  that  commands  respect.  The 
Castle  is  an  instance  of  the  sublime  in  site  and 
architecture.  Its  fortifications  are  kept  in  good 
order,  and  there  is  always  in  it  a  garrison  of  regular 
soldiers,  which  is  relieved  every  year  ;  but  it  is  in- 
capable of  sustaining  a  siege  carried  on  according  to 
the  modern  operations  of  war.  The  Castle-hill, 
which  extends  from  the  outward  gate  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  High  Street,  is  used  as  a  public  walk  for 
the  citizens,  and  commands  a  prospect  equally 
extensive  and  delightful,  over  the  county  of  Fife, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Firth,  and  all  along  the  sea- 
coast,  which  is  covered  with  a  succession  of  towns 
that  would  seem  to  indicate  a  considerable  share  of 
commerce ;  but  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  these 
towns  have  been  falling  to  decay  ever  since  the 
Union,  by  which  the  Scotch  were  in  a  great  measure 

2 


i8  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

deprived  of  their  trade  with  France.  The  palace 
of  Holyrood-house  is  a  jewel  in  architecture,  thrust 
into  a  hollow  where  it  cannot  be  seen  ;  a  situation 
which  was  certainly  not  chosen  by  the  ingenious 
architect,  who  must  have  been  confined  to  the  site 
of  the  old  palace,  which  was  a  convent.  Edinburgh 
is  considerably  extended  on  the  south  side,  where 
there  are  divers  little  elegant  squares  built  in  the 
English  manner  ;  and  the  citizens  have  planned  some 
improvements  on  the  north,  which,  when  put  in 
execution,  will  add  greatly  to  the  beauty  and  con- 
venience of  this  capital. 

The  sea-port  is  Leith,  a  flourishing  town,  about  a 
mile  from  the  city,  in  the  harbour  of  which  I  have 
seen  above  one  hundred  ships  lying  altogether.  You 
must  know  I  had  the  curiosity  to  cross  the  Firth  in  a 
passage-boat,  and  stayed  two  days  in  Fife,  which  is 
remarkably  fruitful  in  corn,  and  exhibits  a  surprising 
number  of  fine  seats,  elegantly  built  and  magnifi- 
cently furnished.  There  is  an  incredible  number  of 
noble  houses  in  every  part  of  Scotland,  that  I  have 
seen — Dalkeith,  Pinkie,  Yester,  and  Lord  Hopetoun's, 
all  of  them  within  four  or  five  miles  of  Edinburgh, 
are  princely  palaces,  in  every  one  of  which  a  sovereign 
might  reside  at  his  ease.  I  suppose  the  Scotch  affect 
these  monuments  of  grandeur.  If  I  may  be  allowed 
to  mingle  censure  with  my  remarks  upon  a  people  I 
revere,  I  must  observe  that  their  weak  side  seems  to 
be  vanity.  I  am  afraid  that  even  their  hospitality 
is  not  quite  free  from  ostentation.  I  think  I  have 
discovered  among  them  uncommon  pains  taken  to 
display  their  fine  linen,  of  which  indeed  they  have 
great  plenty,  their  furniture,  plate,  housekeeping, 
and  variety  of  wines,  in  which  article,  it  must  be 


EDINA'S  CHARM  19 

owned,  they  are  profuse,  if  not  prodigal.  A  burgher 
of  Edinburgh,  not  content  to  vie  with  a  citizen  of 
London  who  has  ten  times  his  fortune,  must  excel 
him  in  the  expense  as  well  as  elegance  of  his  enter- 
tainments. .  .  .  We  shall  set  out  [for  Glasgow]  in 
two  days,  and  take  Stirling  in  our  way,  well  provided 
with  recommendations  from  our  friends  at  Edinburgh, 
whom,  I  protest,  I  shall  leave  with  much  regret.  I 
am  so  far  from  thinking  it  any  hardship  to  live  in 
this  country,  that,  if  I  was  obliged  to  lead  a  town 
life,  Edinburgh  would  certainly  be  the  headquarters 
of,  yours  always,  MATT  BRAMBLE. 

EDINBURGH,  August  8.  TOBIAS  SMOLLETT. 


THE  GOOD  TOWN  OF  EDINBURGH 

DEAR  PHILLIPS, — If  I  stay  much  longer  at  Edinburgh, 
I  shall  be  changed  into  a  downright  Caledonian.  My 
uncle  observes,  that  I  have  already  acquired  some- 
thing of  the  country  accent.  The  people  here  are  so 
social  and  attentive  in  their  civilities  to  strangers 
that  I  am  insensibly  sucked  into  the  channel  of  their 
manners  and  customs,  although  they  are  in  fact 
much  more  different  from  ours  than  you  can  imagine. 
That  difference,  however,  which  struck  me  very 
much  at  my  first  arrival,  I  now  hardly  perceive,  and 
my  ear  is  perfectly  reconciled  to  the  Scotch  accent, 
which  I  find  even  agreeable  in  the  mouth  of  a  pretty 
woman.  It  is  a  sort  of  Doric  dialect,  which  gives  an 
idea  of  amiable  simplicity.  You  cannot  imagine  how 
we  have  been  caressed  and  feasted  in  the  good  town  of 
Edinburgh,  of  which  we  are  become  free  denizens  and 
guild-brothers,  by  the  special  favour  of  the  magistracy. 
I  had  a  whimsical  commission  from  Bath,  to  a 

2 — 3 


20  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

citizen  of  this  metropolis.  Quin,  understanding  our 
intention  to  visit  Edinburgh,  pulled  out  a  guinea, 
and  desired  the  favour  I  would  drink  it  at  a  tavern, 
with  a  particular  friend  and  bottle-companion  of 
his,  one  Mr.  Robert  Cullen,  a  lawyer  of  this  city. 
I  charged  myself  with  the  commission,  and,  taking 
the  guinea,  '  You  see,'  said  I,  '  I  have  pocketed  your 
bounty.'  '  Yes,'  replied  Quin,  laughing,  '  and  a 
headache  into  the  bargain,  if  you  drink  fair.'  I 
made  use  of  this  introduction  to  Mr.  Cullen,  who 
received  me  with  open  arms,  and  gave  me  the  ren- 
dezvous, according  to  the  cartel.  He  had  provided 
a  company  of  jolly  fellows,  among  whom  I  found 
myself  extremely  happy  ;  and  did  Mr.  Cullen  and 
Quin  all  the  justice  in  my  power  ;  but,  alas  !  I  was 
no  more  than  a  tyro  among  a  troop  of  veterans,  who 
had  compassion  upon  my  youth,  and  conveyed  me 
home  in  the  morning,  by  what  means  I  know  not. 
Quin  was  mistaken,  however,  as  to  the  headache  ; 
the  claret  was  too  good  to  treat  me  so  roughly. 
While  Mr.  Bramble  holds  conferences  with  the 
graver  literati  of  the  place,  and  our  females  are  enter- 
tained at  visits  by  the  Scotch  ladies,  who  are  the 
best  and  kindest  creatures  upon  earth,  I  pass  my  time 
among  the  bucks  of  Edinburgh,  who,  with  a  great 
share  of  spirit  and  vivacity,  have  a  certain  shrewd- 
ness and  self-command  that  is  not  often  found  among 
their  neighbours  in  the  hey-day  of  youth  and  exul- 
tation. Not  a  hint  escapes  a  Scotchman  that  can 
be  interpreted  into  offence  by  any  individual  in  the 
company  ;  and  national  reflections  are  never  heard. 
In  this  particular,  I  must  own,  we  are  both  unjust 
and  ungrateful  to  the  Scotch  ;  for,  as  far  as  I  am 
able  to  judge,  they  have  a  real  esteem  for  the  natives 


EDINA'S  CHARM  21 

of  South  Britain,  and  never  mention  our  country 
but  with  expressions  of  regard.  .  .  . 

All  the  remarkable  places  in  the  city  and  its 
avenues,  for  ten  miles  around,  we  have  visited, 
much  to  our  satisfaction.  In  the  Castle  are  some 
royal  apartments,  where  the  sovereign  occasionally 
resided  ;  and  here  are  carefully  preserved  the  regalia 
of  the  kingdom,  consisting  of  a  crown,  said  to  be  of 
great  value,  a  sceptre,  and  a  sword  of  state  adorned 
with  jewels.  Of  these  symbols  of  sovereignty  the 
people  are  exceedingly  jealous.  A  report  being 
spread,  during  the  sitting  of  the  Union  Parliament, 
that  they  were  removed  to  London,  such  a  tumult 
arose  that  the  Lord  Commissioner  would  have  been 
torn  in  pieces  if  he  had  not  produced  them  for  the 
satisfaction  of  the  populace. 

The  palace  of  Holyrood-house  is  an  elegant  piece 
of  architecture,  but  sunk  in  an  obscure,  and,  as  I 
take  it,  unwholesome  bottom,  where  one  would 
imagine  it  had  been  placed  on  purpose  to  be  con- 
cealed. The  apartments  are  lofty  but  unfurnished  ; 
and  as  for  the  pictures  of  the  Scottish  Kings,  from 
Fergus  I.  to  King  William,  they  are  paltry  daubings, 
mostly  by  the  same  hand,  painted  either  from  the 
imagination,  or  porters  hired  to  sit  for  the  purpose. 
All  the  diversions  of  London  we  enjoy  at  Edinburgh 
in  a  small  compass.  Here  is  a  well-conducted 
concert,  in  which  several  gentlemen  perform  on 
different  instruments.  The  Scotch  are  all  musicians. 
Every  man  you  meet  plays  on  the  flute,  the  violin, 
or  violoncello  ;  and  there  is  one  nobleman  whose 
compositions  are  universally  admired.  Our  com- 
pany of  actors  is  very  tolerable,  and  a  subscription  is 
now  on  foot  for  building  a  new  theatre.  But  their 


22  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

assemblies  please  me  above  all  other  public  exhibi- 
tions. 

We  have  been  at  the  hunters'  ball,  where  I  was 
really  astonished  to  see  such  a  number  of  fine  women. 
The  English  who  have  never  crossed  the  Tweed, 
imagine  erroneously  that  the  Scotch  ladies  are  not 
remarkable  for  personal  attractions  :  but  I  declare 
with  a  safe  conscience,  I  never  saw  so  many  handsome 
ladies  together  as  were  assembled  on  this  occasion. 
At  the  Leith  races  the  best  company  comes  hither 
from  the  remoter  provinces,  so  that,  I  suppose,  we 
had  all  the  beauty  of  the  kingdom  concentrated,  as 
it  were,  into  one  focus  ;  which  was  indeed  so  vehe- 
ment that  my  heart  could  hardly  resist  its  power. 
Between  friends,  it  has  sustained  some  damage 
from  the  bright  eyes  of  the  charming  Miss  Renton, 
whom  I  had  the  honour  to  dance  with  at  the  ball. 
The  Countess  of  Melville  attracted  all  eyes,  and  the 
admiration  of  all  present.  She  was  accompanied  by 
the  agreeable  Miss  Grieve,  who  made  many  con- 
quests ;  nor  did  my  sister  Liddy  pass  unnoticed  in 
the  assembly.  She  is  become  a  toast  at  Edinburgh, 
by  the  name  of  the  Fair  Cambrian.  .  .  .  We  shall 
set  out  to-morrow  or  next  day  for  Stirling  and 
Glasgow  ;  and  we  propose  to  penetrate  a  little  way 
into  the  Highlands,  before  we  turn  our  course  to  the 
southward. — Commend  me  to  all  our  friends  round 
Carfax,  and  believe  me  to  be,  ever  yours,  J.  MELFORD. 

TOBIAS    SMOLLETT. 
Edinburgh,  AUGUST  8. 

THE  CANONGATE  :    ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  SIGHTS 

THE  Canongate  .  .  .  has  many  visitors.     The  tourist 
is  anxious  to  make  acquaintance  with  it.     Gentlemen 


OLD    KUINHURGH    FROM    WAVERLEY    13K1DGE 


EDINA'S  CHARM  23 

of  obtuse  olfactory  nerve,  and  of  an  antiquarian  turn 
of  mind,  go  down  its  closes,  and  climb  its  spiral 
stairs.  Deep  down  these  wynds  the  artist  pitches 
his  stool,  and  spends  the  day  sketching  some  pictur- 
esque gable  or  doorway. 

The  New  Town  is  divided  from  the  Old  by  a  gorge 
or  valley,  now  occupied  by  a  railway-station  ;  and  the 
means  of  communication  are  from  the  Mound.  .  .  . 
You  stand  on  the  South  Bridge,  and  looking  down, 
instead  of  a  stream,  you  see  the  Cowgate,  the  .  .  . 
most  densely  peopled  of  Edinburgh  streets.  Admired 
once  by  a  French  ambassador  at  the  court  of  one  of 
the  Jameses,  and  yet  with  certain  traces  of  departed 
splendour,  the  Cowgate  has  fallen  into  the  sere  and 
yellow  leaf  of  furniture-brokers,  second-hand  jewellers, 
and  vendors  of  deleterious  alcohol.  These  second- 
hand jewellers'  shops,  the  trinkets  seen  by  bleared 
gaslight,  are  the  most  melancholy  sights  I  know. 
Watches  hang  there  that  once  ticked  comfortably  in 
the  fobs  of  prosperous  men,  rings  that  were  once 
placed  by  happy  bridegrooms  on  the  fingers  of  happy 
brides,  jewels  in  which  lives  the  sacredness  of  death- 
beds. What  tragedies,  what  disruptions  of  house- 
holds, what  fell  pressure  of  poverty  brought  them 
there  !  Looking  in  through  the  foul  windows,  the 
trinkets  remind  one  of  shipwrecked  gold  embedded 
in  the  ooze  of  ocean — gold  that  speaks  of  unknown, 
yet  certain,  storm  and  disaster,  of  the  yielding  of 
planks,  of  the  cry  of  drowning  men.  Who  has  the 
heart  to  buy  them,  I  wonder  ?  The  Cowgate  is 
the  Irish  portion  of  the  city.  Edinburgh  leaps  over 
it  with  bridges.  .  .  .  The  people  of  the  Cowgate 
seldom  visit  the  upper  streets.  You  may  walk  about 
the  New  Town  for  a  twelvemonth  before  one  of  these 


24  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Cowgate  pariahs  comes  between  the  wind  and  your 
gentility.  Should  you  wish  to  see  that  strange 
people  '  at  home,'  you  must  visit  them.  The  Cow- 
gate  will  not  come  to  you  :  you  must  go  to  the  Cow- 
gate.  To  walk  along  it,  then,  from  the  West  Port, 
through  the  noble  open  space  of  the  Grassmarket — 
where  the  Covenanters  and  Captain  Porteous  suffered 
— on  to  Holyrood,  is  one  of  the  world's  sights,  and 
one  that  does  not  particularly  raise  your  estimate  of 
human  nature.  .  .  . 

But  Edinburgh  keeps  all  these  evil  things  out  of 
sight,  and  smiles,  with  Castle,  tower,  church-spire, 
and  pyramid  rising  into  sunlight  out  of  garden 
spaces  and  belts  of  foliage.  The  Cowgate  has  no 
power  to  mar  her  beauty.  There  may  be  a  canker 
at  the  heart  of  the  peach — there  is  neither  pit  nor 
stain  on  its  dusty  velvet.  Throned  on  crags,  Edin- 
burgh takes  every  eye ;  and,  not  content  with 
supremacy  in  beauty,  she  claims  an  intellectual 
supremacy  also.  She  is  a  patrician  amongst  British 
cities,  '  A  penniless  lass  wi'  a  lang  pedigree.'  She 
has  wit  if  she  lacks  wealth  :  she  counts  great  men 
against  millionaires.  The  success  of  the  actor  is 
insecure  until  thereunto  Edinburgh  has  set  her  seal. 
The  poet  trembles  before  the  Edinburgh  critics. 
The  singer  respects  the  delicacy  of  the  Edinburgh 
ear.  Coarse  London  may  roar  with  applause : 
fastidious  Edinburgh  sniffs  disdain,  and  sneers 
reputations  away.  London  is  the  stomach  of  the 
empire — Edinburgh  the  quick,  subtle,  far-darting 
brain.  Some  pretension  of  this  kind  the  visitor 
hears  on  all  sides  of  him.  It  is  quite  wonderful  how 
Edinburgh  purrs  over  her  own  literary  achievements. 
Swift,  in  the  dark  years  that  preceded  his  death, 


EDINA'S  CHARM  25 

looking  one  day  over  some  of  the  productions  of  his 
prime,  exclaimed,  '  Good  heaven  !  what  a  genius  I 
once  was  !'  Edinburgh,  looking  some  fifty  years 
back  on  herself,  is  perpetually  expressing  astonish- 
ment and  delight.  Mouldering  Highland  families, 
when  they  are  unable  to  retain  a  sufficient  following 
of  servants,  fill  up  the  gaps  with  ghosts.  Edinburgh 
maintains  her  dignity  after  a  similar  fashion,  and  for 
a  similar  reason.  Lord-Advocate  Moncreiff,  one  of 
the  members  for  the  city,  hardly  ever  addresses  his 
fellow-citizens  without  recalling  the  names  of  Jeffrey, 
Cockburn,  Rutherfurd,  and  the  other  stars  that  of 
yore  made  the  welkin  bright.  On  every  side  we  hear 
of  the  brilliant  society  of  forty  years  ago.  Edinburgh 
considers  herself  supreme  in  talent — just  as  it  is 
taken  for  granted  to-day  that  the  present  English 
navy  is  the  most  powerful  in  the  world,  because 
Nelson  won  Trafalgar.  The  Whigs  consider  The 
Edinburgh  Review  the  most  wonderful  effort  of 
human  genius.  The  Tories  would  agree  with  them, 
if  they  were  not  bound  to  consider  Blackwood's 
Magazine  a  still  greater  effort.  It  may  be  said  that 
Burns,  Scott,  and  Carlyle  are  the  only  men  really 
great  in  literature — taking  great  in  a  European  sense 
— who,  during  the  last  eighty  years,  have  been  con- 
nected with  Edinburgh.  I  do  not  include  Wilson  in 
the  list  ;  for  although  he  was  as  splendid  as  any  of 
these  for  the  moment,  he  was  evanescent  as  a  Northern 
light.  In  the  whole  man  there  was  something  spec- 
tacular. A  review  is  superficially  very  like  a  battle. 
In  both  there  is  the  rattle  of  musketry,  the  boom  of 
great  guns,  the  deploying  of  endless  brigades,  charges 
of  brazen  squadrons  that  shake  the  ground — only  the 
battle  changes  kingdoms,  while  the  review  is  gone 


26  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

with  its  own  smoke- wreaths.  Scott  lived  in  or  near 
Edinburgh  during  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  Burns 
lived  there  but  a  few  months.  Carlyle  went  to  Lon- 
don early,  where  he  has  written  his  important  works, 
and  made  his  reputation.  Let  the  city  boast  of 
Scott — no  one  will  say  she  does  wrong  in  that — but 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  discover  the  amazing  brilliancy 
of  her  other  literary  lights.  Their  reputations,  after 
all,  are  to  a  great  extent  local.  What  blazes  a  sun  at 
Edinburgh,  would,  if  transported  to  London,  not  un- 
frequently  become  a  farthing  candle.  Lord  Jeffrey — 
when  shall  we  cease  to  hear  his  praises  ?  With  per- 
fect truthfulness  one  may  admit  that  his  lordship 
was  no  common  man.  His  '  vision  '  was  sharp  and 
clear  enough  within  its  range.  He  was  unable  to 
relish  certain  literary  forms,  as  some  men  are  unable  to 
relish  certain  dishes — an  inaptitude  that  might  arise 
from  fastidiousness  of  palate,  or  from  weakness  of 
digestion.  His  style  was  perspicuous  ;  he  had  an 
icy  sparkle  of  epigram  and  antithesis,  some  wit,  and 
no  enthusiasm.  He  wrote  many  clever  papers,  made 
many  clever  speeches,  said  many  clever  things.  But 
the  man  who  could  so  egregiously  blunder  as  to 
Wilhelm  Meister,  who  hooted  Wordsworth  through 
his  entire  career,  who  had  the  insolence  to  pen  the 
sentence  that  opens  the  notice  of  the  Excursion  in 
The  Edinburgh  Review,  and  who,  when  writing 
tardily,  but  really  well,  on  Keats,  could  pass  over  the 
Hyperion  with  a  slighting  remark,  might  be  possessed 
of  distinguished  parts,  but  no  claim  can  be  made  for 
him  to  the  character  of  a  great  critic.  Hazlitt, 
wilful,  passionate,  splendidly  gifted,  in  whose  very 
eccentricities  and  fierce  vagaries  there  was  a  gener- 
osity which  belongs  only  to  fine  natures,  has  sunk 


EDINA'S  CHARM  27 

away  into  an  almost  unknown  London  grave,  and 
his  works  into  unmerited  oblivion  ;  while  Lord  Jeffrey 
yet  makes  radiant  with  his  memory  the  city  of  his 
birth.  In  point  of  natural  gifts  and  endowment — 
in  point,  too,  of  literary  issue  and  result — the  English- 
man far  surpassed  the  Scot.  Why  have  their  des- 
tinies been  so  different  ?  One  considerable  reason 
is  that  Hazlitt  lived  in  London — Jeffrey  in  Edinburgh. 
Hazlitt  was  partially  lost  in  an  impatient  crowd  and 
rush  of  talent.  Jeffrey  stood,  patent  to  every  eye, 
in  an  open  space  in  which  there  were  few  competitors. 
London  does  not  brag  about  Hazlitt — Edinburgh 
brags  about  Jeffrey.  The  Londoner,  when  he  visits 
Edinburgh,  is  astonished  to  find  that  it  possesses  a 
Valhalla  filled  with  gods — chiefly  legal  ones — of 
whose  names  and  deeds  he  was  previously  in  ignor- 
ance. The  ground  breaks  into  unexpected  flowerage 
beneath  his  feet.  He  may  conceive  to-day  to  be  a 
little  cloudy — may  even  suspect  east  wind  to  be 
abroad — but  the  discomfort  is  balanced  by  the 
reports  he  hears  on  every  side  of  the  beauty,  warmth, 
and  splendour  of  yesterday.  He  puts  out  his  hands 
and  warms  them,  if  he  can,  at  that  fire  of  the  past. 
'  Ah  !  that  society  of  forty  years  ago  !  Never  on  this 
earth  did  the  like  exist.  Those  astonishing  men, 
Homer,  Jeffrey,  Cockburn,*  Rutherfurd  !  What  wit 
was  theirs — what  eloquence,  what  genius  !  What  a 
city  this  Edinburgh  once  was  !' 

ALEXANDER   SMITH. 
THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  PAST 

EDINBURGH  is  not  only  in  point  of  beauty  the  first 
of  British  cities — but,  considering  its  population,  the 
general  tone  of  its  society  is  more  intellectual  than 


28  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

that  of  any  other.  In  no  other  city  will  you  find 
so  general  an  appreciation  of  books,  art,  music,  and 
objects  of  antiquarian  interest.  It  is  peculiarly  free 
from  the  taint  of  the  ledger  and  the  counting-house. 
It  is  a  Weimar  without  a  Goethe — Boston  without 
its  nasal  twang.  But  it  wants  variety ;  it  is  mainly 
a  city  of  the  professions.  London,  for  instance,  con- 
tains every  class  of  people  ;  it  is  the  seat  of  legislature 
as  well  as  of  wealth  ;  it  embraces  Seven  Dials  as  well 
as  Belgravia.  In  that  vast  community  class  melts 
imperceptibly  into  class,  from  the  Sovereign  on  the 
throne  to  the  wretch  in  the  condemned  cell.  In  that 
finely-graduated  scale  the  professions  take  their  own 
place.  In  Edinburgh  matters  are  quite  different. 
It  retains  the  gauds  which  royalty  cast  off  when  it 
went  South,  and  takes  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  re- 
garding these — as  a  lady  the  love-tokens  of  a  lover 
who  has  deserted  her  to  marry  into  a  family  of  higher 
rank.  A  crown  and  sceptre  lie  up  in  the  Castle,  but 
no  brow  wears  the  diadem,  no  hand  lifts  the  golden 
rod.  There  is  a  palace  at  the  foot  of  the  Canongate, 
but  it  is  a  hotel  for  her  Majesty,  en  route  for  Balmoral 
— a  place  where  the  Commissioner  to  the  Church  of 
Scotland  holds  his  phantom  Court.  With  these 
exceptions,  the  old  halls  echo  only  the  footfalls  of 
the  tourist  and  sight-seer.  When  royalty  went  to 
London,  nobility  followed  ;  and  in  Edinburgh  the 
field  is  left  now,  and  has  been  so  left  for  a  long  time 
back,  to  Law,  Physic,  and  Divinity.  The  professions 
predominate  ;  than  these  there  is  nothing  higher.  At 
Edinburgh  a  Lord  of  Session  is  a  Prince  of  the  Blood, 
a  Professor  a  Cabinet  Minister,  an  Advocate  an  heir 
to  a  peerage.  The  University  and  the  Courts  of 
Justice  are  to  Edinburgh  what  the  Court  and  the 


EDINA'S  CHARM  29 

Houses  of  Lords  and  Commons  are  to  London.  .  .  . 
In  Edinburgh  we  have  had  princes  of  late  years,  and 
seen  the  uses  of  them.  A  prince  at  Holyrood  would 
effect  for  the  country  what  '  Scottish  Rights ' 
Associations  and  University  reformers  have  so  long 
desired.  The  nobility  would  again  gather — for  a 
portion  of  the  year  at  least — to  their  ancient  capital ; 
and  their  sons,  as  of  old,  would  be  found  in  the 
University  class-rooms.  Under  the  new  influence 
life  would  be  gayer,  airier,  brighter.  The  social 
tyranny  of  the  professions  would  to  some  extent  be 
broken  up,  the  atmosphere  would  become  less  legal, 
and  a  new  standard  would  be  introduced  whereby 
to  measure  men  and  their  pretensions.  For  the 
Prince,  himself,  good  results  might  be  expected.  He 
would  at  the  least  have  some  specific  public  duties 
to  perform  ;  and  he  would,  through  intercourse,  be- 
come attached  to  the  people,  as  the  people  in  their 
turn  would  become  attached  to  him.  Edinburgh 
needs  some  little  gaiety  and  courtly  pomp  to  break 
the  coldness  of  gray  stony  streets  ;  to  brighten  a 
somewhat  sombre  atmosphere ;  to  mollify  the  east 
wind  that  blows  half  the  year,  and  the  '  professional 
sectarianism  '  that  blows  the  whole  year  round.  You 
always  suspect  the  east  wind,  somehow,  in  the  city. 
You  go  to  dinner,  the  east  wind  is  blowing  chillily 
from  hostess  to  host.  You  go  to  church,  a  bitter  east 
wind  is  blowing  in  the  sermon.  The  text  is  that 
divine  one,  GOD  is  LOVE  ;  and  the  discourse  that 
follows  is  full  of  all  un charitableness. 

Of  all  British  cities,  Edinburgh — Weimar-like  in 
its  intellectual  and  aesthetic  leanings,  Florence-like  in 
its  freedom  from  the  stains  of  trade,  and  more  than 
Florence-like  in  its  beauty — is  one  the  best  suited  for 


30  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

the  conduct  of  a  lettered  life.  The  city,  as  an  entity, 
does  not  stimulate  like  London,  the  present  moment 
is  not  nearly  so  intense,  life  does  not  roar  and  chafe — 
it  murmurs  only ;  and  this  interest  of  the  hour, 
mingled  with  something  of  the  quietude  of  distance 
and  the  past — which  is  the  spiritual  atmosphere  of 
the  city — is  the  most  favourable  of  all  conditions  for 
intellectual  work  or  intellectual  enjoyment.  You 
have  libraries — you  have  the  society  of  cultivated 
men  and  women — you  have  the  eye  constantly  fed 
by  beauty — the  Old  Town,  jagged,  picturesque, 
piled  up  ;  and  the  airy,  open,  coldly-sunny,  unhurried, 
uncrowded  streets  of  the  New  Town — and,  above  all, 
you  can  '  sport  your  oak,'  as  they  say  at  Cambridge, 
and  be  quit  of  the  world,  the  gossip,  and  the  dun. 
In  Edinburgh  you  do  not  require  to  create  quiet  for 
yourself ;  you  can  have  it  ready-made.  Life  is 
leisurely  ;  but  it  is  not  the  leisure  of  a  village,  arising 
from  a  deficiency  of  ideas  and  motives — it  is  the 
leisure  of  a  city  reposing  grandly  on  tradition  and 
history,  which  has  done  its  work,  which  does  not 
require  to  weave  its  own  clothing,  to  dig  its  own 
coals,  to  smelt  its  own  iron.  And  then,  in  Edinburgh, 
above  all  British  cities,  you  are  released  from  the 
vulgarizing  dominion  of  the  hour.  The  past  con- 
fronts you  at  every  street  corner.  The  Castle  looks 
down  out  of  history  on  its  gayest  thoroughfare.  The 
winds  of  fable  are  blowing  across  Arthur's  Seat. 
Old  kings  dwelt  in  Holyrood.  Go  out  of  the  city 
where  you  will,  the  past  attends  you  like  a  cicerone. 
Go  down  to  North  Berwick,  and  the  red  shell  of 
Tantallon  speaks  to  you  of  the  might  of  the  Douglases. 
Across  the  sea,  from  the  grey-green  Bass,  through  a 
cloud  of  gannets,  comes  the  sigh  of  prisoners.  From 


EDINA'S  CHARM  31 

the  long  sea-board  of  Fife — which  you  can  see  from 
George  Street — starts  a  remembrance  of  the  Jameses. 
Queen  Mary  is  at  Craigmillar,  Napier  at  Merchiston, 
Ben  Jonson  and  Drummond  at  Hawthornden,  Prince 
Charles  in  the  little  inn  at  Duddingston  ;  and  if  you 
go  out  to  Linlithgow,  there  is  the  smoke  of  Bothwell- 
haugh's  fusee,  and  the  Great  Regent  falling  in  the 
crooked  street.  Thus  the  past  checkmates  the 
present.  To  an  imaginative  man,  life  in  or  near 
Edinburgh  is  like  residence  in  an  old  castle  : — the 
rooms  are  furnished  in  consonance  with  modern 
taste  and  convenience  ;  the  people  who  move  about 
wear  modern  costume,  and  talk  of  current  events  in 
current  colloquial  phrases  ;  there  is  the  last  news- 
paper and  book  in  the  library,  the  air  from  the  last 
new  opera  in  the  drawing-room  ;  but,  while  the  hour 
flies  past,  a  subtle  influence  enters  into  it — enriching, 
dignifying — from  oak  panelling  and  carvings  on  the 
roof — from  the  picture  of  the  peaked-bearded 
ancestor  on  the  wall — from  the  picture  of  the  fanned 
and  hooped  lady — from  the  old  suit  of  armour  and 
the  moth-eaten  banner.  On  the  intellectual  man, 
living  or  working  in  Edinburgh,  the  light  comes 
through  the  stained  window  of  the  past.  To-day's 
event  is  not  raw  and  brusque  ;  it  comes  draped  in 
romantic  colour,  hued  with  ancient  gules  and  or.  And 
when  he  has  done  his  six  hours'  work,  he  can  take 
the  noblest  and  most  renovating  exercise.  He  can 
throw  down  his  pen,  put  aside  his  papers,  and  walk 
round  the  Queen's  Drive,  where  the  wind  from  the 
sea  is  always  fresh  and  keen  ;  and  in  his  hour's  walk 
he  has  wonderful  variety  of  scenery — the  fat  Lothians 
— the  craggy  hill -side — the  valley,  which  seems  a  bit 
of  the  Highlands — the  wide  sea,  with  smoky  towns 


32  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

on  its  margin,  and  islands  on  its  bosom — lakes  with 
swans  and  rushes — ruins  of  castle,  palace,  and 
chapel — and,  finally,  homeward  by  the  high  towering 
street  through  which  Scottish  history  has  rushed  like 
a  stream.  There  is  no  such  hour's  walk  as  this  for 
starting  ideas,  or,  having  started,  captured,  and  used 
them,  for  getting  quit  of  them  again. 

ALEXANDER    SMITH. 


THE  SCOT  ABROAD 

THE  old  land  is  still  the  true  love,  the  others  are  but 
pleasant  infidelities.  .  .  .  Somewhere,  deep  down  in 
the  heart  of  each  one  of  us,  something  yearns  for  the 
old  land,  and  the  old  kindly  people.  Of  all  mysteries 
of  the  human  heart,  this  is  perhaps  the  most  inscrut- 
able. There  is  no  special  loveliness  in  that  gray 
country,  with  its  rainy,  sea-beat  archipelago  ;  its 
fields  of  dark  mountains  ;  its  unsightly  places,  black 
with  coal ;  its  treeless,  sour,  unfriendly  looking  corn- 
lands  ;  its  quaint,  gray,  castled  city,  where  the  bells 
clash  of  a  Sunday,  and  the  wind  squalls,  and  the 
salt  showers  fly  and  beat.  I  do  not  even  know  ii  I 
desire  to  live  there  ;  but  let  me  hear,  in  some  far  land, 
a  kindred  voice  sing  out,  '  Oh,  why  left  I  my  hame  ?' 
and  it  seems  at  once  as  if  no  beauty  under  the  kind 
heavens,  and  no  society  of  the  wise  and  good,  can 
repay  me  for  my  absence  from  my  country.  And 
though  I  think  I  would  rather  die  elsewhere,  yet  in 
my  heart  of  hearts  I  long  to  be  buried  among  good 
Scots  clods.  I  will  say  it  fairly,  it  grows  on  me  with 
every  year  :  there  are  no  stars  so  lovely  as  Edinburgh 
street-lamps.  When  I  forget  thee,  auld  Reekie,  may 
my  right  hand  forget  its  cunning  ! 


EDINA'S  CHARM  33 

The  happiest  lot  on  earth  is  to  be  born  a  Scotch- 
man. You  must  pay  for  it  in  many  ways,  as  for  all 
other  advantages  on  earth.  You  have  to  learn  the 
shorter  catechism ;  you  generally  take  to  drink  ; 
your  youth,  as  far  as  I  can  find  out,  is  a  time  of 
louder  war  against  society,  of  more  outcry  and  tears 
and  turmoil,  than  if  you  had  been  born,  for  instance, 
in  England.  But  somehow  life  is  warmer  and  closer  ; 
the  hearth  burns  more  redly ;  the  lights  of  home 
shine  softer  on  the  rainy  street ;  the  very  names, 
endeared  in  verse  and  music,  cling  nearer  round  our 
hearts. 

ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


THE  SCOTTISH  EXILES 

CANADIAN    BOAT-SONG 

LISTEN  to  me,  as  when  you  heard  our  father 
Sing,  long  ago,  the  song  of  other  shores  ; 

Listen  to  me,  and  then  in  chorus  gather 
All  your  deep  voices  as  ye  pull  your  oars. 

Fair  these  broad  meads,  these  hoary  woods  are  grand  ; 
But  we  are  exiles  from  our  fathers'  land. 

From  the  lone  shieling  of  the  misty  island 
Mountains  divide  us,  and  the  waste  of  seas  ; 

Yet  still  the  blood  is  strong,  the  heart  is  Highland, 
And  we,  in  dreams,  behold  the  Hebrides. 

We  never  shall  tread  the  fancy-haunted  valley 
Where  'tween  the  dark  hills  creeps  the  small  clear 

stream, 

In  arms  around  the  patriarch  banner  rally, 
Nor  see  the  moon  on  royal  tombstones  gleam. 

3 


34  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

When  the  bold  kindred,  in  the  time  long  vanished, 
Conquered  the  soil  and  fortified  the  keep, 

No  seer  foretold  the  children  should  be  banished, 
That  a  degenerate  lord  might  boast  his  sheep. 

Come  foreign  raid  !  let  discord  burst  in  slaughter  ! 

Oh,  then,  for  clansmen  true  and  stern  claymore  ! 
The  hearts  that  would  have  given  their  blood  like  water 

Beat  heavily  beyond  the  Atlantic  roar. 

Fair  these  broad  meads,  these  hoary  woods  are  grand  ; 
But  we  are  exiles  from  our  fathers'  land. 

HUGH   MONTGOMERIE,    EARL   OF  EGLINTON. 

(From  the  Gaelic.) 


HOME 

WHEN,  of  an  autumn  evening,  the  train  brought  me 
into  Edinburgh,  the  scales  of  familiarity  having  to 
some  little  extent  fallen  from  my  eyes,  I  thought  I 
had  never  before  seen  it  so  beautiful.  Its  brilliancy 
was  dazzling  and  fairy-like.  It  was  like  a  city  of 
Chinese  lanterns.  It  was  illuminated  as  if  for  a  great 
victory,  or  the  marriage  of  a  king.  Princes  Street 
blazed  with  street-lamps  and  gay  shop  -  windows. 
The  Old  Town  was  a  maze  of  twinkling  lights.  The 
Mound  lifted  up  its  starry  coil.  The  North  Bridge, 
leaping  the  chasm,  held  lamps  high  in  air.  There 
were  lights  on  the  Calton  Hill,  lights  on  the  crest  of  the 
Castle.  The  city  was  in  a  full  blossom  of  lights — to 
wither  by  midnight,  to  be  all  dead  ere  dawn.  And 
then,  to  an  ear  accustomed  to  silence,  there  arose  on 
every  side  the  potent  hum  of  moving  multitudes, 
more  august  in  itself,  infinitely  more  suggestive  to  the 
imagination,  than  the  noise  of  the  Atlantic  on  the 


EDINA'S  CHARM  35 

Skye  shores.  The  sound  with  which  I  had  been  for 
some  time  familiar  was  the  voice  of  many  billows  ; 
the  sound  which  was  in  my  ears  was  the  noise  of  men. 

And  in  driving  home,  too,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
curious  oppugnancy  between  the  Skye  life  which  I 
had  for  some  time  been  leading,  and  the  old  Edinburgh 
life  which  had  been  dropped  for  a  little,  and  which 
had  now  to  be  resumed.  The  two  experiences  met 
like  sheets  of  metal,  but  they  were  still  separate  sheets 
— I  could  not  solder  them  together  and  make  them 
one.  I  knew  that  a  very  few  days  would  do  that 
for  me  ;  but  it  was  odd  to  attempt,  by  mental  effort, 
to  unite  the  experiences  and  to  discover  how  futile 
was  all  such  effort.  Coming  back  to  Edinburgh  was 
like  taking  up  abode  in  a  house  to  which  one  had  been 
for  a  while  a  stranger,  in  which  one  knew  all  the  rooms 
and  all  articles  of  furniture  in  the  rooms,  but  with 
whose  knowledge  there  was  mingled  a  feeling  of 
strangeness.  I  had  changed  my  clothes  of  habit,  and 
for  the  moment  I  did  not  feel  so  much  at  ease  in  the 
strange  Edinburgh,  as  the  familiar  Skye,  suit. 

It  was  fated,  however,  that  the  two  modes  of  life 
should,  in  my  consciousness,  melt  into  each  other  im- 
perceptibly. When  I  reached  home,  I  found  that  my 
friend  the  Rev.  Mr.  Macpherson  of  Inverary  had  sent 
me  a  packet  of  Ossianic  translations.  These  transla- 
tions, breathing  the  very  soul  of  the  wilderness  I  had 
lately  left,  I  next  day  perused  in  my  Edinburgh  sur- 
roundings, and  through  their  agency  the  two  experi- 
ences coalesced.  Something  of  Edinburgh  melted 
into  my  remembrance  of  Skye — something  of  Skye 
was  projected  into  actual  Edinburgh.  Thus  is  life 
enriched  by  ideal  contrast  and  interchange. 

ALEXANDER   SMITH. 

3—2 


36  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

EDINBURGH  :  AN  IMPRESSION 

IMAGINATION  stirs  thy  paved  ways 
With  hapless  heroes  and  with  poets  brave, 
Whose  glory  was  a  thrust  or  song  to  save 
Their  country's  fame  ;  thy  pillared  pride  obeys 
Their  summons,  and  upon  thee  ever  stays 
A  large  recording  majesty  sublime, 
The  chronicled  impassiveness  of  time, 
The  silent  emblem  of  triumphant  days. 

Guard  yet  thy  beauty  as  thou  guard'st  it  now, 
Unheeding  aught  of  gain  so  beauty  brood 
Inviolate  upon  thine  unseared  brow, 
And  strangers  still,  departing  from  thy  gates, 
Shall  gather  of  thy  changeless  quietude 
A  measure  for  the  solace  of  their  fates. 

JOHN    DRINKWATER. 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH 


Stately  Edinburgh  throned  on  crags. 

WORDSWORTH. 

Edinburgh,  the  most  beautiful  of  Scotch  towns,  and,  indeed, 
in  its  way,  of  European  towns,  whatever  a  peevish  poet  caught 
by  the  east  winds  may  say. 

MRS.    OLIPHANT. 

Edinburgh  is  really  a  very  interesting  place, — to  me  very 
singular.  How  can  I  describe  the  view  from  the  hill  that 
overlooks  the  palace  ;  the  fine  group  of  buildings  which  form 
the  castle  ;  the  bridges,  uniting  the  two  towns  ;  and  the  beau- 
tiful view  of  the  Firth  and  its  islands  ? 

CRABBE. 

When  looking  forth, 
I  view  yon  Empress  of  the  North 

Sit  on  her  hilly  throne  ; 
Her  palace's  imperial  bowers, 
Her  castle,  proof  to  hostile  powers, 
Her  stately  halls  and  holy  towers. 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 

The  sun,  going  down  behind  the  Pentlands,  casts  golden 
lights  and  blue  shadows  on  their  snow-clad  summits,  stunted 
obliquely  into  the  rich  plains  before  them,  bathing  with  rosy 
splendour  the  leafless,  snow-sprinkled  trees,  and  fading  gradu- 
ally into  shadow  in  the  distance.  To  the  south,  too,  they 
behold  a  deep-shaded  amphitheatre  of  heather  and  bracken — 
the  course  of  the  Esk,  near  Penicuik,  winding  about  at  the 
foot  of  its  gorge — the  broad,  brown  expanse  of  Maw  Moss — 
and  fading  into  blue  distinctness  in  the  south,  the  wild  heath- 
clad  Peebles-shire  hills. 

ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON. 


EDINBURGH  FROM  BLACKFORD  HILL 

MINE   OWN    ROMANTIC   TOWN 

BLACKFORD  !  on  whose  uncultured  breast, 

Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  whin, 
A  truant- boy,  I  sought  the  nest, 
Or  listed,  as  I  lay  at  rest, 

While  rose,  on  breezes  thin, 
The  murmur  of  the  city  crowd, 
And,  from  his  steeple  jangling  loud, 

Saint  Giles's  mingling  din. 
Now,  from  the  summit  to  the  plain, 
Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain  ; 

And  o'er  the  landscape  as  I  look, 
Nought  do  I  see  unchanged  remain, 

Save  the  rude  cliffs  and  chiming  brook. 
To  me  they  make  a  heavy  moan 
Of  early  friendships  past  and  gone. 

But  different  far  the  change  has  been 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

Upon  the  bent  so  brown  : 
Thousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow, 
Spread  all  the  Borough-moor  below, 

Upland,  and  dale,  and  down  : — 
A  thousand  did  I  say  ?     I  ween 
Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  chequered  all  the  heath  between 

The  streamlet  and  the  town  ; 
39 


40  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 

Forming  a  camp  irregular  ; 

Oft  giving  way,  where  still  there  stood 

Some  relics  of  the  old  oak  wood, 

That  darkly  huge  did  intervene, 

And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green  : 

In  these  extended  lines  there  lay 

A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

For  from  Hebudes,  dark  with  rain, 
To  eastern  Lodon's  fertile  plain, 
And  from  the  Southern  Redswire  edge, 
To  farthest  Rosse's  rocky  ledge  ; 
From  west  to  west,  from  south  to  north, 
Scotland  sent  all  her  warriors  forth. 
Marmion  might  hear  the  mingled  hum 
Of  myriads  up  the  mountain  come  ; 
The  horses'  tramp,  the  tingling  clank, 
Where  chiefs  review'd  their  vassal  rank, 

And  charger's  shrilling  neigh  ; 
And  see  the  shifting  lines  advance, 
While  frequent  flash'd,  from  shield  to  lance, 

The  sun's  reflected  ray. 

Thin  curling  in  the  morning  air, 

The  wreathes  of  falling  smoke  declare 

To  embers  now  the  brands  decay'd, 

Where  the  night-watch  their  fires  had  made. 

They  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain, 

Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  wain, 

And  dire  artillery's  clumsy  car, 

By  sluggish  oxen  tugg'd  to  war  ; 

And  there  were  Borthwick's  Sisters  Seven, 

And  culverins  which  France  had  given. 


Ill-omen'd  gift !  the  guns  remain 
The  conquer'd  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

Nor  mark'd  they  less,  where  in  the  air 
A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair  ; 

Various  in  shape,  device,  and  hue, 

Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red,  and  blue, 
Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tail'd,  and  square, 
Scroll,  pennon,  pensil,  bandrol  there, 

O'er  the  pavilions  flew. 
Highest  and  midmost,  was  descried 
The  royal  banner  floating  wide  ; 
The  staff,  a  pine-tree,  strong  and  straight, 
Pitch'd  deeply  in  a  massive  stone, 
Which  still  in  memory  is  shown, 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight 
Whene'er  the  western  wind  unroll'd, 

With  toil,  the  huge  and  cumbrous  fold, 
And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field, 
Where,  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 

The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold. 

Lord  Marmion  view'd  the  landscape  bright 
He  view'd  it  with  a  chief's  delight — 

Until  within  him  burn'd  his  heart, 

And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  part, 
As  on  the  battle-day  ; 

Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart, 

When  stooping  on  his  prey. 
'  Oh  !  well,  Lord-Lion,  hast  thou  said, 
Thy  King  from  warfare  to  dissuade 

Were  but  in  vain  essay  ; 
For,  by  St.  George,  were  that  host  mine, 
Not  power  infernal  nor  divine, 


42  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Should  once  to  peace  my  soul  incline, 
Till  I  had  dimm'd  their  armour's  shine 

In  glorious  battle-fray  !' 
Answer' d  the  Bard,  of  milder  mood  : 
'  Fair  is  the  sight — and  yet  'twere  good 

That  kings  would  think  withal, 
When  peace  and  wealth  their  land  has  bless'd, 
'Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest, 

Than  rise,  perchance  to  fall.' 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 

For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd. 
When  sated  with  the  martial  show 
That  peopled  all  the  plain  below, 
The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 
And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 
With  gloomy  splendour  red  ; 
For  on  the  smoke-wreathes,  huge  and  slow 
That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow, 
The  morning  beams  were  shed, 
And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 
Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 

Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height, 

Where  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 
And  all  the  steep  slope  down, 

Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky, 

Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 
Mine  own  romantic  town  ! 

But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze, 

On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays, 

And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kiss'd, 

It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 

Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw  ; 

Here  Preston-Bay  and  Berwick-Law  : 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  43 

And,  broad  between  them  roll'd, 
The  gallant  Firth  the  eye  might  note, 
Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 

Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 

SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


«  EMERALDS  CHASED  IN  GOLD  ' 

'  The  gallant  Firth  .  .  . 
Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 
Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold.' 

SCOTT. 

VIEW  from  this  height  the  winding  Forth, 
That  lovely  jewel  of  the  north  ; 
See,  on  its  glittering  bosom  lie 
Islands,  like  gems,  majestically. 

From  Blackford  Hill  the  eye  may  count 
Ten  islands  on  that  shining  fount, 
That,  till  they  reach  the  open  main 
Are  emeralds  in  a  golden  chain. 

The  giant  Bass  Rock,  Inchgarvie, 
May's  Isle,  Cramond,  Inchmickery, 
Inchcolm,  and  Findra,  and  Inchkieth, 
Lamb,  and  the  island  of  Craigleith. 

Fair,  glittering  '  emeralds  chased  in  gold,' 
What  sight  more  lovely  to  behold  ! 
Spread  for  the  wandering  eye  to  see, 
This  emerald  island  rosary. 

A.   HUME   HAMILTON. 

THIS  DELIGHTFUL  AND  BEAUTIFUL  CITY  ! 

THIS    delightful    and    beautiful    city !     I    thought 
Bristol,  taking  in  its  heights  and  Clifton  with  its 


44  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

rocks  and  river,  was  the  finest  city  in  the  world  ; 
but  it  is  nothing  to  Edinburgh,  with  its  castle,  its 
hills,  its  pretty  little  seaport  detached  from  it,  its  vale 
of  rich  land  lying  all  around,  its  lofty  hills  in  the 
background,  its  views  across  the  Firth.  I  think 
little  of  its  streets  and  its  rows  of  fine  houses,  though 
all  built  of  stone,  and  though  everything  in  London 
and  Bath  is  beggary  to  these  ;  I  think  nothing  of 
Holyrood  House  ;  but  I  think  a  great  deal  of  the  fine 
and  well-ordered  streets  of  shops  ;  of  the  regularity 
which  you  perceive  everywhere  in  the  management  of 
business  ;  and  I  think  still  more  of  the  absence  of 
that  foppishness  and  that  affectation  of  carelessness 
and  insolent  assumption  of  superiority  in  almost  all 
young  men  you  meet  in  the  fashionable  parts  of  the 
great  towns  in  England.  I  was  not  disappointed, 
for  I  expected  to  find  Edinburgh  the  finest  city  in  the 
kingdom. 

WILLIAM  COBBETT. 
ADDRESS  TO  EDINBURGH 

EDINA  !  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 

Here  wealth  still  swells  the  golden  tide, 
As  busy  Trade  his  labour  plies  ! 

There  Architecture's  noble  pride 
Bids  elegance  and  splendour  rise  ; 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  45 

Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies, 
High  wields  her  balance  and  her  rod  ; 

There  Learning,  with  his  eagle  eyes, 
Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

Thy  sons,  Edina  !  social,  kind, 

With  open  arms  the  stranger  hail  ; 
Their  views  enlarg'd,  their  lib'ral  mind, 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale  ; 
Attentive  still  to  sorrow's  wail, 

Or  modest  merit's  silent  claim  ; 
And  never  may  their  sources  fail ! 

And  never  envy  blot  their  name  ! 

Thy  daughters  bright  thy  walks  adorn, 

Gay  as  the  gilded  summer  sky, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  the  raptur'd  thrill  of  joy  ! 
Fair  Burnet  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 

Heav'n's  beauties  on  my  fancy  shine  ; 
I  see  the  Sire  of  Love  on  high, 

And  own  his  work  indeed  divine  ! 

There,  watching  high  the  least  alarms, 

Thy  rough,  rude  fortress  gleams  afar  ; 
Like  some  bold  vet'ran,  grey  in  arms, 

And  mark'd  with  many  a  seamy  scar  : 
The  pond'rous  wall  and  massy  bar, 

Grim-rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock, 
Have  oft  withstood  assailing  war, 

And  oft  repell'd  th'  invader's  shock. 

With  awe-struck  thought,  and  pitying  tears, 

I  view  that  noble,  stately  dome, 
Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years, 

Fam'd  heroes  !  had  their  royal  home  : 


46  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Alas,  how  chang'd  the  times  to  come  ! 

Their  royal  name  low  in  the  dust ! 
Their  hapless  race  wild-wand'ring  roam  ! 

Tho'  rigid  law  cries  out,  '  Twas  just  !' 

Wild  beats  my  heart,  to  trace  your  steps, 

Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore, 
Thro'  hostile  ranks  and  ruin'd  gaps 

Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore  : 
Ev'n  I  who  sing  in  rustic  lore, 

Haply,  my  sires  have  left  their  shed, 
And  fac'd  grim  danger's  loudest  roar, 

Bold-following  where  your  fathers  led  ! 

Edina  !  Scotia's  darling  seat  ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray 'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours. 

I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


ELOQUENT  EDINBURGH 

DR.  JOHNSON  named  Edinburgh  as  '  a  city  too  well 
known  to  admit  description.'  That  judgment  was 
proclaimed  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago — before 
yet  Caledonia  had  bewitched  the  world's  heart  as  the 
haunted  land  of  Robert  Burns  and  Walter  Scott — 
and  if  it  were  true  then  it  is  all  the  more  true  now. 
But  while  the  reverent  pilgrim  along  the  ancient  high- 
ways of  history  may  not  wisely  attempt  description, 
which  would  be  superfluous,  he  perhaps  may  usefully 


47 

indulge  in  brief  chronicle  and  impression — for  these 
sometimes  prove  suggestive  to  minds  that  are  kindred 
with  his  own.  Hundreds  of  travellers  visit  Edin- 
burgh ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to  visit  and  another  thing  to 
see  ;  and  every  suggestion,  surely,  is  of  value  that 
helps  to  clarify  our  vision.  This  capital  is  not  learnt 
by  driving  about  in  a  cab  ;  for  Edinburgh  to  be  truly 
seen  and  comprehended  must  be  seen  and  compre- 
hended as  an  exponent  of  the  colossal  individuality 
of  the  Scottish  character  ;  and  therefore  it  must  be 
observed  with  thought.  Here  is  no  echo  and  no  imi- 
tation. Many  another  provincial  city  of  Britain  is  a 
miniature  copy  of  London  ;  but  the  quality  of  Edin- 
burgh is  her  own.  Portions  of  her  architecture  do 
indeed  denote  a  reverence  for  ancient  Italian  models, 
while  certain  other  portions  reveal  the  influence  of 
the  semi-classical  taste  that  prevailed  in  the  time  of 
the  Regent,  afterwards  George  IV.  The  democratic 
tendency  of  this  period — expressing  itself  here  pre- 
cisely as  it  does  everywhere  else,  in  button-making 
pettiness  and  vulgar  commonplace — is  likewise  suffi- 
ciently obvious.  Nevertheless  in  every  important 
detail  of  Edinburgh,  and  of  its  life,  the  reticent,  reso- 
lute, formidable,  impetuous,  passionate  character  of 
the  Scottish  race  is  conspicuous  and  predominant. 
Much  has  been  said  against  the  Scottish  spirit — the 
tide  of  cavil  purling  on  from  Dr.  Johnson  to  Sydney 
Smith.  Dignity  has  been  denied  to  it,  and  so  has 
magnanimity,  and  so  has  humour  ;  but  there  is  no 
audience  more  quick  than  the  Scottish  audience  to 
respond  either  to  pathos  or  to  mirth  ;  there  is  no 
literature  in  the  world  so  musically,  tenderly,  and 
weirdly  poetical  as  the  Scottish  literature  ;  there  is 
no  place  on  earth  where  the  imaginative  instinct  of 


48  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

the  national  mind  has  resisted,  as  it  has  resisted  in 
Scotland,  the  encroachment  of  utility  upon  the  domain 
of  romance  ;  there  is  no  people  whose  history  has 
excelled  that  of  Scotland  in  the  display  of  heroic, 
intellectual,  and  moral  purpose,  combined  with  pas- 
sionate sensibility  ;  and  no  city  could  surpass  the 
physical  fact  of  Edinburgh  as  a  manifestation  of  broad 
ideas,  unstinted  opulence,  and  grim  rugged  grandeur. 
Whichever  way  you  turn,  and  whatever  object  you 
behold,  that  consciousness  is  always  present  to  your 
thought — the  consciousness  of  a  race  of  beings  in- 
tensely original,  individual,  passionate,  authoritative, 
and  magnificent. 

The  capital  of  Scotland  is  not  only  beautiful  but 
eloquent.  ...  At  every  step  the  sensitive  mind  is 
impressed  with  the  splendid  intellect,  the  individual 
force,  and  the  romantic  charm  of  the  Scottish  char- 
acter, as  it  is  commemorated  and  displayed  in  this 
delightful  place.  What  a  wealth  of  significance  it 
possesses  may  be  indicated  by  even  the  most  meagre 
record  and  the  most  superficial  commentary  upon  the 
passing  events  of  a  traveller's  ordinary  day. 

WILLIAM  WINTER. 


WRITTEN  IN  EDINBURGH 

EVEN  thus,  methinks,  a  city  reared  should  be, 
Yea,  an  imperial  city,  that  might  hold 
Five  times  an  hundred  noble  towns  in  fee, 
And  either  with  their  might  of  Babel  old, 
Or  the  rich  Roman  pomp  of  empery 
Might  stand  compare,  highest  in  arts  enrolled, 
Highest  in  arms  ;  brave  tenement  for  the  free, 
Who  never  crouch  to  thrones,  or  sin  for  gold. 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  49 

Thus  should  her  towers  be  raised — with  vicinage 
Of  clear  bold  hills,  that  curve  her  very  streets, 
As  if  to  vindicate  'mid  choicest  seats 
Of  art,  abiding  Nature's  majesty  ; 
And  the  broad  sea  beyond,  in  calm  or  rage 
Chainless  alike,  and  teaching  Liberty. 

ARTHUR  HENRY  HALLAM. 


THE  HEART  OF  SCOTLAND 

'  The  Heart  of  Scotland,  Britain's  other  eye' 

BEN  JONSON. 

A  BRIGHT  blue  sky,  across  which  many  masses  of  thin 
white  cloud  are  borne  swiftly  on  the  cool  western  wind, 
bends  over  the  stately  city,  and  all  her  miles  of  grey 
mansions  and  spacious,  cleanly  streets  sparkle  be- 
neath it  in  a  flood  of  summer  sunshine.  It  is  the 
Lord's  Day,  and  most  of  the  highways  are  deserted 
and  quiet.  From  the  top  of  the  Calton  Hill  you  look 
down  upon  hundreds  of  blue  smoke-wreaths  curling 
upward  from  the  chimneys  of  the  resting  and  restful 
town,  and  in  every  direction  the  prospect  is  one  of 
opulence  and  peace.  A  thousand  years  of  history  are 
here  crystallized  within  the  circuit  of  a  single  glance, 
and  while  you  gaze  upon  one  of  the  grandest  emblems 
that  the  world  contains  of  a  storied  and  romantic 
past,  you  behold  likewise  a  living  and  resplendent 
pageant  of  the  beauty  of  to-day.  Nowhere  else  are 
the  Past  and  the  Present  so  lovingly  blended.  There, 
in  the  centre,  towers  the  great  crown  of  St.  Giles. 
Hard  by  are  the  quaint  slopes  of  the  Canongate, — 
teeming  with  illustrious,  or  picturesque,  or  terrible 
figures  of  Long  Ago.  Yonder  the  glorious  Castle 
Crag  looks  steadfastly  westward, — its  manifold, 

4 


50  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

wonderful  colours  continuously  changing  in  the 
changeful  daylight.  Down  in  the  valley  Holyrood, 
haunted  by  a  myriad  of  memories  and  by  one  resplen- 
dent face  and  entrancing  presence,  nestles  at  the  foot 
of  the  giant  Salisbury  Crag  ;  while  the  dark,  rivened 
peak  of  Arthur's  Seat  rears  itself  supremely  over  the 
whole  stupendous  scene.  Southward  and  westward, 
in  the  distance,  extends  the  bleak  range  of  the  Pent- 
land  Hills  ;  eastward  the  cone  of  Berwick  Law  and 
the  desolate  Bass  Rock  seem  to  cleave  the  sea  ;  and 
northward,  beyond  the  glistening  crystal  of  the  Forth, 
— with  the  white  lines  of  embattled  Inchkeith  like  a 
diamond  on  its  bosom — the  lovely  Lomonds,  the 
virginal  mountain  breasts  of  Fife,  are  bared  to  the 
kiss  of  heaven.  It  is  such  a  picture  as  words  can  but 
faintly  suggest ;  but  when  you  look  upon  it  you  readily 
comprehend  the  pride  and  the  passion  with  which  a 
Scotsman  loves  his  native  land". 

WILLIAM   WINTER. 


TWILIGHT  IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS 

IN  due  time  Kit  Kennedy  went  to  Edinburgh.  It 
was  the  dowie  time  of  the  year.  November  was  just 
beginning.  .  .  .  The  noise  and  stir  of  the  city  took 
Kit  by  the  throat.  And  though  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street,  Edinburgh  may 
be  considered  a  quiet  city ;  to  a  boy  accustomed  to  the 
Black  Craig  of  Dee  it  roared  like  Babylon.  .  .  .  Kit 
Kennedy  and  Dick  Bisset  went  into  the  pale  blue 
misty  twilight  of  Edinburgh  streets.  A  frosty  wind 
had  whipped  them  dry,  and  now  drove  a  stray  flake 
or  two  of  snow  horizontally  along  the  roadways 
which  opened  out  north  and  south.  Kit  had  never 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  51 

in  his  life  been  conscious  of  so  keen  an  elation  of  the 
blood  as  on  this  humming  lamplit  evening  of  early 
winter.  A  tingling  appreciation  of  life  bubbled 
headily  in  his  brain.  He  saw  everything  with  a  curious 
clearness,  and  seemed  to  divine  by  instinct  whither 
each  passenger  was  going  and  what  drew  him  thither. 

Kit  did  not  know  that  this  power  of  heightening  his 
own  sensations  by  contrast  with  those  of  others  was 
due  to  a  certain  essential  corpuscle  of  his  blood 
inherited  from  his  father.  .  .  .  Kit  only  knew  that 
merely  to  walk  by  the  side  of  Dick  Bisset  in  the  crisp 
frosty  bite  of  the  winter  twilight,  through  the  ex- 
citing pour  of  the  well-dressed  people,  made  the 
Cottage  by  the  Crae  seem  a  thousand  miles  away. 
It  came  upon  him  suddenly  and  not  at  all  remorsefully 
that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  that  morning 
forgotten  to  say  his  prayers.  As  the  two  youths 
swung  out  of  the  defile  of  high  houses  on  the  Bridges 
they  emerged  upon  that  astonishing  panorama,  which, 
seen  at  the  hour  of  gloaming,  never  fails  to  excite 
a  thrill  in  the  most  hardened  and  most  unemotional 
— in  the  lawyer  escaping  from  the  grinding  monotony 
of  Parliament  House,  and  the  engine-driver  coming 
up  from  a  twelve-hours'  spell  upon  the  footplate. 

The  Waverley  station  was  now  no  more  a  prosaic 
railway  terminus.  Common  details  were  sunk  in  a 
pale,  luminous,  silver  mist,  through  which  burned  a 
thousand  lights,  warm,  yellow,  and  kindly.  The 
blue  deepened  beneath  the  Castle  rock.  There  it 
was  indigo,  with  a  touch  of  royal  scarlet  where  the 
embers  of  the  sunset  lay  broadly  dashed  in  against 
the  west.  Princes  Street,  that  noblest  of  earthly 
promenades,  whose  glory  it  is  to  be  no  mere  street, 
lay  along  the  edge  of  a  blue  and  misty  sea,  bejewelled 

4—2 


52 

with  scattered  lights,  festooned  with  fairy  points  of 
fire,  converging,  undulating,  and  receding  till  they 
ran  red  as  blood  into  the  eye  of  the  sunset. 

Above  all  towered  the  ancient  strength  of  the  Castle, 
battlemented  from  verge  to  verge,  light  as  a  cloud, 
insurgent  as  a  wave,  massive  as  its  own  foundations, 
etched  bold  and  black  against  the  spreading  splen- 
dours of  the  west. 

'  Oh,  look,'  said  Kit,  laying  his  hand  impulsively 
on  the  arm  of  his  companion,  '  I  did  not  know  God 
had  created  anything  half  so  beautiful !' 

S.    R.    CROCKETT. 
EDINBURGH 

INSTALL'D  on  hills,  her  head  near  starry  bowers, 

Shines  Edinburgh,  proud  of  protecting  powers. 

Justice  defends  her  heart ;  Religion  east 

With  temples  ;  Mars  with  towers  doth  guard  the  west  ; 

Fresh  Nymphs  and  Ceres  serving,  wait  upon  her, 

And  Thetis,  tributary,  doth  her  honour. 

The  sea  doth  Venice  shake,  Rome  Tiber  beats, 

While  she  but  scorns  her  vassal  water's  threats. 

For  sceptres  nowhere  stands  a  town  more  fit, 

Nor  place  where  town,  world's  queen,  may  fairer  sit ; 

But  this  my  praise  is,  above  all  most  brave, 

No  man  did  e'er  defame  thee  but  a  slave. 

WILLIAM   DRUMMOND   OF  HAWTHORNDEN. 
QUEEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

A    FRAGMENT 

YET,  ere  Oblivion  shade  each  fairy  scene, 

Ere  capes  and  cliffs  and  waters  intervene, 

Ere  distant  walks  my  pilgrim  feet  explore, 

By  Elbe's  slow  wanderings,  and  the  Danish  shore, — 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  53 

Still  to  my  country  turns  my  partial  view 
That  seems  the  dearest  at  the  last  adieu  ! 

Ye  lawns  and  grottos  of  the  clustered  plain  ; 
Ye  mountain-walks,  Edina's  green  domain  ; 
Haunts  of  my  youth,  where  oft,  by  fancy  drawn 
At  vermeil  eve,  still  noon,  or  shady  dawn, 
My  soul,  secluded  from  the  deafening  throng, 
Has  wooed  the  bosom-prompted  power  of  song  : 
And  thou,  my  loved  abode, — romantic  ground, 
With  ancient  towers  and  spiry  summits  crowned  ! — 
Home  of  the  polished  arts  and  liberal  mind, 
By  truth  and  taste  enlightened  and  refined  ! 
Thou  scene  of  Scotland's  glory,  now  decayed, 
Where  once  her  Senate  and  her  Sceptre  swayed, 
As  round  thy  mouldered  monuments  of  fame 
Tradition  points  an  emblem  and  a  name, 
Lo  !  what  a  group  Imagination  brings 
Of  starred  barons,  and  of  throned  kings  ! 
Departed  days  in  bright  succession  start, 
And  all  the  patriot  kindles  in  my  heart ! 


Even  musing  here,  beside  the  Druid-stone, 
Where  British  Arthur  built  his  airy  throne, 
Far  as  my  sight  can  travel  o'er  the  scene, 
From  Lomond's  height  to  Roslin's  lovely  green, 
On  every  moor,  wild  wood,  and  mountain  side, 
From  Perth's  fair  windings  to  the  ocean  tide, — 
On  each,  the  legendary  loves  to  tell, 
Where  chiefs  encounter'd,  and  the  mighty  fell ; 
Each  war-worn  turret  on  the  distant  shore 
Speaks,  like  a  herald,  of  the  feats  of  yore  ; 
And  though  the  shades  of  dark  Oblivion  frown 
On  sacred  seats  and  deeds  of  high  renown, 


54  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Yet  still  some  oral  tale,  some  chanted  rhyme, 
Still  mark  the  spot,  and  teach  succeeding  time 
How  oft  our  fathers,  to  their  country  true, 
The  glorious  sword  of  Independence  drew  ; 
How  well  the  plaided  clans,  in  battle  tried, 
Impenetrably  stood  or  greatly  died, — 
How  long  the  genius  of  their  rights  delay'd, — 
How  sternly  guarded,  and  how  late  betrayed. 
Fair  fields  of  Roslin — memorable  name  ! 
Attest  my  words,  and  speak  my  country's  fame  ! 
Soft  as  yon  mantling  haze  of  distance  broods 
Around  thy  waterfalls  and  aged  woods, 
The  south  sun  checkers  all  thy  birchen  glade 
With  glimmering  lights  and  deep-retiring  shade  ; 
Fresh  coverts  of  the  dale,  so  dear  to  tread, 
When  morn's  wild  blackbird  carols  overhead  ; 
Or,  when  the  sunflower  shuts  her  bosom  fair, 
And  scented  berries  breathe  delicious  air. 
Dear  is  thy  pastoral  haunt  to  him  that  woos 
Romantic  Nature — Silence — and  the  Muse  ! 
But  dearer  still — when  that  returning  time 
Of  fruits  and  flowers— the  year's  Elysian  prime — 
Invites,  one  simple  festival  to  crown, 
Young  social  wanderers  from  the  sultry  town  ! 

THOMAS   CAMPBELL. 


A  DISTANT  VIEW  OF  EDINBURGH 

THE  path  runs  down  and  peeps  out  in  the  lane 
That  loiters  on  by  fields  of  wheat  and  bean, 
Till  the  white-gleaming  road  winds  cityward. 
Afar,  in  floods  of  sunshine,  blinding  white, 
The  city  lieth  in  its  quiet  pride, 
With  castled  crown,  looking  on  Towns  and  Shires, 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  55 

And   Hills   from   which   cloud-highlands   climb   the 

heavens : 

A  happy  thing  in  glory  smiles  the  Firth  ; 
Its  flowing  azure  winding  like  an  arm 
Around  the  warm  waist  of  the  yielding  land. 

GERALD    MASSEY. 


FAMOUS  EDINBURGH 

Arnold.  O  how  sweetly  the  weather  smiles,  the 
horizon  looks  clear,  the  sky  is  serene,  and  the  birds 
you  may  see  them  beat  the  ambient  air  with  their 
tunable  notes.  Come,  Theophilus,  let  us  mount  our 
horses,  and  lift  up  our  eyes  to  behold  those  lofty 
embellishments  of  Edinburgh. 

Theophilus.  They  are  obvious  enough,  half  an 
eye  may  see  them. 

Ar.  Welcome  to  these  elevated  parts,  the  princely 
court  of  famous  Edinburgh.  This  city  stands  upon 
a  mighty  scopulous  mountain,  whose  foundations  are 
cemented  with  mortar  and  stone  ;  where  the  bulk  of 
her  lofty  buildings  represent  it  a  rock  at  a  reasonable 
distance,  fronting  the  approaching  sun  ;  whose  ele- 
vations are  seven  or  eight  stories  high,  mounted  aloft 
in  the  ambient  air.  But  the  length,  as  I  take  it, 
exceeds  not  one  mile,  and  the  breadth  on't  measures 
little  more  than  half  a  mile  ;  nor  is  there  more  than 
one  fair  street,  to  my  best  remembrance.  But  then 
it's  large  and  long,  and  very  spacious,  whose  ports  are 
splendid,  so  are  her  well-built  houses  and  palaces, 
corresponding  very  much  to  complete  it  their  metro- 
polis. 

Th.  What  fabric  is  that  on  the  east  of  Edin- 
burgh ? 


56  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Ar.  Hallirood  House,  the  Regal  Court  of  Scot- 
land. 

Th.  But  there's  yet  another  great  fabric  that  pre- 
sents westward. 

Ar.  That's  Edinburgh  Castle,  elevated  in  the  air, 
on  an  impregnable  precipice  of  rocky  earth,  perpen- 
dicular in  some  parts,  rampir'd  and  barrocadoed  with 
thick  walls  of  stone  and  grass  proportionable,  to  con- 
tribute an  additional  strength.  So  that  you  are  to 
consider  this  inaccessible  castle  shines  from  a  natural 
as  well  as  an  artificial  product ;  because  part  of  it 
you  see  contiguous  with  the  rock  ;  but  the  other  part, 
because  affixed  by  cemented  stone,  which  inoculates 
and  incorporates  them  so  firmly  together,  that  the 
whole  mass  of  building  is  of  such  incredible  strength, 
that  it's  almost  fabulous  for  any  man  to  report  it, 
or  sum  up  the  impregnable  lustre  and  beauty  of 
this  fair  fortress,  that  defies  all  attempts,  except 
famine,  disease,  or  treachery  be  conduct.  .  .  . 
True  it  is,  many  arguments  of  art  and  artillery  have 
been  sent  to  examine  this  impregnable  castle,  but 
none  were  ever  found  more  successful  than  hunger  and 
disease,  or  the  golden  apples  of  the  Hesperides. 
Such  kind  of  magnets  muzzle  mercenaries,  and  make 
them  a  golden  bridge  to  pass  over. 

Th.  Is  this  fair  fabric  the  Parliament  House,  where 
the  grandees  sit  on  national  affairs  ? 

Ar.  Yes,  this  is  their  palace  where  the  Parliament 
sits  to  accommodate  the  kingdom,  whose  famous 
ports  we  now  relinquish  to  take  a  review  of  the  bars 
of  Musselburg.  But  that  on  our  right  hand  is  delicate 
Dalkeith. 

RICHARD   FRANCK. 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  57 

EDINBURGH  :  A  NATIVE'S  PRAISE 

EDINA'S  guardian  genius,  lend 

A  humble  bard,  no  muckle  ken'd, 

Thy  aid  to  sing,  in  verses  wild, 

Edina,  Scotia's  auldest  child, 

A  town  that  yields  to  nane,  I  ken, 

For  bonny  queans  an'  strappin'  men  ; 

The  place  where  first  I  drew  my  breath, 

Whilk  I  to  leave  hae  aft  been  laith, 

An'  aye  shall  hae,  while  warm  my  bluid, 

My  wishes  best  an'  gratitude. 

An'  tho'  by  fortune's  biting  blast, 

I  should  be  far  'mang  strangers  cast, 

I'll  aye  think  on  the  happy  hours 

I've  spent  beside  Edina's  towers, 

Which  while  my  throbbing  heart  shall  beat, 

I'll  aye  wish  prosp'rous,  rich,  an'  great. 

My  muse,  frae  cowrin'  now  tak's  wing, 
Thy  praise,  Auld  Reekie,  now  I  sing.  ... 
The  Castle  proud  oure-tapping  stands, 
An'  the  wide  country  round  commands  ; 
Ilk  auld  grey  tower  sae  venerable, 
Reminds  us  o'  the  days  o'  trouble, 
While  lang  impregnable  they  stood, 
Ere  cannon's  awfu'  thunder  loud 
Was  heard,  or  that  vile  monk  was  known 
Wha  brought  sic  mischief  mankind  on. 
High-munted  on  stupendous  rock, 
Ilk  warlike  art  it  then  could  mock, 
An'  nought  but  fraud  or  famine's  spite 
Could  get  possession  o'  this  height. 
There  kings  were  born  and  princes  bred 
Secure,  while  factious  bluid  was  shed. 


58  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

But  now,  alas  !  nae  king  dwells  there, 
Auld  Scotia  mourn'd  their  loss  fu'  sair.  .  .  . 
Now  silence  reigns,  and  naught  is  heard 
Save  the  slow  pace  o'  watchfu*  guard. 
Twa  regiments  still  are  kept  therein, 
An'  cannons  big  to  make  a  din 
On  hallow  days,  wi'  loud  rebound 
Frae  Arthur's  Seat  an'  hills  around. 

Then  we  descend  to  the  parade 
Improvement  by  Lord  Adam  made. 
Parade  like  this,  ye'll  find  but  few, 
Commanding  sic  a  bonny  view 
O'  hills  an'  dales  on  ilka  side, 
An'  the  braid  Forth  whar  vessels  ride 
Proudly  at  anchor,  while  the  gale 
O'  ithers  sweetly  swells  the  sail. 

Down  the  Lawn-market  neist  we  daunder, 
Whar  'bout  their  doors  shopkeepers  wander, 
Shawin'  their  wares,  wi'  muckle  clack, 
An'  tryin'  in  the  wives  to  tak'. 
Far  fam'd's  this  street  for  politicians, 
Wha  fain  wad  be  the  States'  physicians.  .  .  . 

Saint  Giles's  lofty  spire  in  view, 
For  architecture  match'd  by  few  ; 
In  shape  like  an  imperial  crown, 
It  towers  majestic  o'er  the  Town. 
On  festive  days,  whan  bailies  meet, 
Her  music-bells  soun'  simply  sweet, 
Or  her  great  bell,  wi'  thundering  noise, 
Gars  ilka  burger's  heart  rejoice. 
Beneath  this  steeple  four  kirks  join, 
O'  Gothic  art  a  sample  fine, 
An'  in  condition  seldom  seen, 
Whar  presbyterians  were  sae  keen. 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  59 

A  pile  o'  noble  buildings  soon 
Will  grace  this  part  o'  Reekie's  town  ; 
The  braw  town-ha's  to  front  the  street, 
Whar  provost  will  wi'  council  meet, 
An'  a'  their  cronies  drest  fu'  gay 
To  drink  the  healths  on  King's  birth-day. 
There  lords  an'  tinklers,  knights,  an'  waukers, 
Will  o'  red  wine  tak'  hearty  caukers.  .  .  . 

In  Parl'mem  Square,  near  to  the  corse, 
We  see  King  Charles  an'  his  horse, 
A  specimen  of  sculpture  fine, 
Whilk  in  this  square  cuts  nae  sma'  shine  ; 
An'  had  Edina  twa  or  three  mae, 
'Twad  grace  her  squares  sae  rich  an'  gay. 

The  Royal  Exchange,  a  building  fine, 
Spoilt  by  some  council's  love  o'  coin  ; 
The  piazzas,  ance  meant  to  be  open, 
Are  now  completely  cram'd  wi'  shopin' ; 
An'  sons  o'  commerce  eke  and  trade, 
Maun  meet  at  corse,  whar  bargain's  made  ; 
But  if  it  rain  on  market-day, 
Beneath  the  pillars  they  maun  gae, 
Or  stand  thereout  like  drouket  mouse, 
Or  daunder  to  some  public-house, 
When,  had  the  Exchange  still  open  been, 
They'd  a'  been  there,  snug,  dry,  an'  clean. 

Down  the  High  Street,  see  the  Tron  Kirk, 
Whilk  formerly  look'd  fearfu'  mirk  ; 
But  worthy  Blair,  in  lucky  hour, 
Buskt  her  fu'  braw,  whilk  gar's  fock  glowr ; 
Some  scarcely  think  it  the  same  place 
Since  their  auld  friend  gat  her  new  face. 
Fergusson  said  little  o'  hersel', 
But  made  immortal  her  curs'd  bell  ;* 
*  See  Fergusson's  '  The  Tron  Kirk  Bell,'  p.  137. 


60  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  council  sure  our  thanks  should  hae 
For  gi'en  the  deel  his  bell  away. 

Just  here,  North-Brig  an'  South  Brig  meets, 
Twa  spacious,  han'some,  usefu'  streets, 
That  northern  parts  an'  southern  join, 
An'  makes  Edina  trigly  shine.  .  .  . 

The  College  stands  at  the  south  side, 
For  architecture,  Reekie's  pride  ; 
But  sure  they've  been  to  prospects  blind 
Wha  a'  its  grandeur  sae  confm'd. 
There's  no  ae  point,  by  a'  that's  true, 
Ye  can  hae  o't  a  proper  view  ; 
But  for  professors,  wise  an'  clear, 
Few  wi'  Edina  can  compare  ; 
In  physic,  an'  philosophy, 
Law,  logic,  an'  divinity, 
She's  lang  excel' d,  and  climes  remote 
Send  aff  their  sons  to  this  fam'd  spot, 
Whar  the  wise  sage  points  out  the  way 
By  many  a  bright  enlightening  ray, 
How  studious  youth  attains  a  name, 
An'  gains,  like  him,  immortal  fame.  .  .  . 

Now  wi'  my  muse  I  took  a  flight 
To  Arthur's  Seat,  whose  towering  height 
Affords  a  most  saul-cheering  sight. 
Here's  a'  that  mak's  a  picture  sweet, 
In  this  ae  spot  the  e'e  does  meet. 
See  countless  lovely  seats  around, 
Begirt  wi'  verdant  pleasure-ground ; 
Trees  in  full  blossom,  bonny  fields, 
That  please  the  e'e  an'  plenty  yields  ; 
Wee  hillocks,  an'  tremendous  mountains, 
Clear  loughs,  sma'  burns,  and  wimpling  fountains; 
The  sea,  whar  Forth  and  Ocean  meet, 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  61 

On  whilk  plies  many  a  boatie  sweet, 

Large  fleets  o'  ships,  an'  islands  sma', 

Inch  Keith,  the  Bass,  North  Berwick  Law  ; 

Towns,  villages,  alang  the  coast, 

An'  distant  hills,  in  clouds  maist  lost. 

When  on  Edina's  bonny  town, 

Wi'  bird's  e'e  view  ane  glanceth  down, 

It  has  sae  grand  an'  strange  effect, 

I  wad  hae  nane  this  view  neglect. 

I  stood  enchanted,  glowr'd  below, 

An'  hardly  frae  the  spot  could  go  ; 

My  enraptured  fancy  lost  was  quite  ; 

My  muse  observ'd  me  no  that  right, 

An'  urged  me  then  to  gang  away, 

When  smiling  I  to  her  did  say, 

Sair  it  maun  be;  or  black  as  night, 

The  heart  that  does  nae  gie  delight. 

ANON  (1810). 

VOICES  OF  MYSTERY 

BY  mountain  sheer  and  column  tall, 
How  solemn  was  the  evening  fall  ! 
The  air  was  calm,  the  stars  were  bright, 
The  hoar-frost  flightered  down  the  night. 
But  oft  the  listening  groups  stood  still, 
For  spirits  talk'd  along  the  hill. 
The  fairy  tribes  had  gone  and  won 
In  southland  climes  beneath  the  sun  ; 
By  shady  woods,  and  waters  sheen, 
And  vales  of  everlasting  green, 
To  sing  of  Scotia's  woodlands  wild, 
Where  human  face  had  never  smiled. 
The  ghost  that  left  the  haunted  yew, 
The  wayward  bogle  fled  the  clough, 


62  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  darksome  pool  of  crisp  and  foam 
Was  now  no  more  the  Kelpie's  home  : 
But  polar  spirits  sure  had  spread 
O'er  hills  which  native  fays  had  fled  ; 
For  all  along,  from  cliff  to  tree, 
On  Arthur's  Seat  and  Salisbury, 
Came  voices  floating  down  the  air 
From  viewless  shades  that  lingered  there. 
The  words  were  fraught  with  mystery  : 
Voices  of  men  they  could  not  be. 
Youths  turned  their  faces  to  the  sky, 
With  beating  heart,  and  bended  eye  ; 
Old  chieftains  walked  with  hastened  tread, 
Loath  that  their  hearts  should  bow  to  dread, 
They  feared  the  spirits  of  the  hill 
To  sinful  Scotland  boded  ill. 

JAMES   HOGG. 


EDINBURGH  :  RICH  IN  ELEGANCIES  AND 
AMENITIES 

THE  Scottish  capital  is  one  of  the  few  great  cities  of 
the  empire  that  possesses  natural  features,  and  which, 
were  the  buildings  away,  would,  while  it  ceased  to  be 
town,  become  very  picturesque  country.  And  hence 
one  of  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  Edinburgh.  The 
natural  features  so  overtop  the  artificial  ones — its 
hollow  valleys  are  so  much  more  strongly  marked 
than  its  streets,  and  its  hills  and  precipices  than  its 
buildings, — Arthur's  Seat  and  the  Crags  look  so 
proudly  down  on  its  towers  and  spires, — and  so  huge 
is  the  mass,  and  so  bold  the  outline  of  its  Castle  rock 
and  its  Calton,  CQrnpar'ed  with  those  of  the  buildings 
which  overtop  them, — that  intelligent  visitors,  with 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  63 

an  eye  for  the  prominent  and  distinctive  in  scenery, 
are  led  to  conceive  of  it  rather  as  a  great  country 
place  than  as  a  great  town.  It  is  a  scene  of 
harmonious  contrasts.  Not  only  does  it  present  us 
with  a  picturesque  city  of  the  grey,  time-faded  past, 
drawn  out  side  by  side,  as  if  for  purposes  of  compari- 
son with  a  gay,  freshly-tinted  city  of  the  present,  rich 
in  all  the  elegancies  and  amenities,  but  it  exhibits  also, 
in  the  same  well-occupied  area,  town  and  country  ;  as 
if  they,  too,  had  been  brought  together  for  purposes 
of  comparison,  and  as  if,  instead  of  remaining  in 
uncompromising  opposition,  as  elsewhere,  they  had 
resolved  on  showing  how  congruously,  and  how  much 
to  their  mutual  advantage,  they  could  unite  and  agree. 

HUGH    MILLER. 

EDINBURGH 

AH  me,  the  years  they  come  and  go  ! 
Twelve  times  the  snowdrop  o'er  the  snow 

Hath  shivered  ;  June  hath  sway'd 
Rich  rose-branch,  full-blown  rose  and  bud  ; 
Broad  sun-flower  from  its  disc  of  blood 

A  sun-like  glory  ray'd — 
Since,  urged  by  passionate  unrest 
I  sang  the  City  of  the  West. 

Grown  staider,  somewhat  now  I  scorn 
The  mavis  of  my  early  morn, 

Clear-singing  'gainst  the  sheen  ; 
Care,  that  sleeps  late,  and  early  stirs, 
Like  daily  feet  of  villagers 

Across  the  village  green, 
Hath  worn  its  track — and  youth's  delight 
An  Autumn  swallow,  taken  flight. 


64  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Another  and  a  nobler  Me 
Dwells  in  regretful  memory, 

Bright-eyed,  and  golden-hair'd  ; 
No  more  I  breathe  melodious  song  ; 
Yet  to  these  later  years  belong 

Moods,  passions,  unimpair'd  : 
Still  lives  the  rapture  of  the  eye, 
Dim  city,  hanging  in  the  sky  ! 

The  dazzling  cataract,  strong  and  loud  ; 
The  reddening  of  the  morning  cloud  ; 

Ben  Blaaven's  craggy  spears, 
And  ridge,  half  lost  in  misty  steam  ; 
Brown  tangle-beds,  that  heave  and  gleam 

Idly  round  stony  piers  ; 
Rude  turf  hut,  girl  in  scarlet  cloak 
Sit  in  an  azure  film  of  smoke — 

I  love,  as  I  did  long  ago  ; — 

Yea,  better  ;  for  I've  come  to  know 

The  loveliest  space  of  sky 
Is  that  which  silently  o'erbends 
Old  apple-blossom'd  gable-ends, 

Wherein  men  live  and  die. 
The  world  is  lovely  ;  and  the  sight 
Of  man  adds  pathos  to  delight. 

Girt  with  thy  cloudy  equipage, 
Swart  city,  thou  wert  once  the  cage 

In  which  I  sang — Afar 
I  cannot  hear  thy  solemn  roar 
Ascending,  when  day's  toil  is  o'er, 

To  meet  the  evening  star. 
My  later  home  is  still  and  fair 
With  mournfulness  of  sunset  air. 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  65 

Edina,  high  in  heaven  wan, 
Towered,  templed,  Metropolitan, 

Waited  upon  by  hills, 
River,  and  widespread  ocean — tinged 
By  April  light,  or  draped  and  fringed 

As  April  vapour  wills, 
Thou  hangest,  like  a  Cyclop's  dream, 
High  in  the  shifting  weather-gleam. 

Fair  art  thou  when  above  thy  head 
The  mistless  firmament  is  spread  ; 

But  when  the  twilight's  screen 
Draws  glimmering  round  thy  towers  and  spires, 
And  thy  lone  bridge,  uncrown 'd  by  fires, 

Hangs  in  the  dim  ravine, 
Thou  art  a  very  Persian  tale — 
Oh,  Mirza's  vision,  Bagdad's  vale  ! 

The  springtime  stains  with  emerald 
Thy  Castle's  precipices  bald  ; 

Within  thy  streets  and  squares 
The  sudden  summer  camps,  and  blows 
The  plenteous  chariot-shaken  rose  ; 

Or,  lifting  unawares 
My  eyes  from  out  thy  central  strife, 
Lo,  far  off,  harvest -brazen  Fife  ! 

When,  rain-drops  gemming  tree  and  plant, 
The  rainbow  is  thy  visitant, 

Lovely  as  on  the  moors  ; 
When  sunset  flecks  with  loving  ray 
Thy  wilderness  of  gables  grey, 

And  hoary  embrasures  ; 

When  great  Sir  Walter's  moon-blanch' d  shrine, 
Rich  carved,  as  Melrose,  gleams  divine, 

5 


66  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

I  know  thee  ;  and  I  know  thee,  too, 
On  winter  nights,  when, 'gainst  the  blue 

Thy  high,  gloom-wilder'd  ridge 
Breaks  in  a  thousand  splendours  ;  lamps 
Gleam  broadly  in  the  valley  damps  ; 

The  air-suspended  bridge 
Shines  steadfast ;  and  the  modern  street 
Looks  on,  star-fretted,  loud  with  feet. 

Once,  on  a  Royal  Nuptial  Eve, 
I  saw  thy  bulk  of  Castle  heave* 

In  fire  and  vapour  roll'd  ; 
St.  Giles  wore  strange  and  gem-like  light ; 
St.  George's  dome,  aloft  in  night, 

Hung  like  a  fleece  of  gold  ; 
Sir  Walter's  shrine,  'mid  rubies,  beryls 
Glow'd  with  the  chasten' d  glow  of  pearls  : 

March  winds  in  fitful  gusts  that  came 
Made  stream  the  wild  padella  flame  ; 

Dull  came  the  cannon's  boom  : 
Past  all  thy  fronts  of  blazing  pride, 
Through  streets  that  shone,  a  jubilant  tide 

Rolled,  hued,  with  sudden  bloom, 
As  rainbow-like,  through  festal  air, 
Passed  emerald  gleam  and  crimson  glare. 

Fair  art  thou,  City,  to  the  eye, 
But  fairer  to  the  memory  : 

There  is  no  place  that  breeds — 
Not  Venice  'neath  her  mellow  moons, 
When  the  sea-pulse  of  full  lagoons 

Waves  all  her  palace  weeds — 
Such  wistful  thoughts  of  far  away, 
Of  the  eternal  yesterday. 
*  Ou  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Edward  VII. 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  67 

Within  thy  high-piled  Canongate 
The  air  is  of  another  date  ; 

All  speaks  of  ancient  time  : 
Traces  of  gardens,  dials,  wells, 
Thy  dizzy  gables,  oyster-shells 

Imbedded  in  the  lime — 
Thy  shields  above  the  doors  of  peers 
Are  old  as  Mary  Stuart's  tears. 

Street  haunted  by  the  step  of  Knox  ; 
Darnley's  long,  heavy-scented  locks  ; 

Ruthven's  blood-freezing  stare  : 
Dark  Murray,  dreaming  of  the  crown — 
His  ride  through  fair  Linlithgow  town, 

And  the  man  waiting  there 
With  loaded  fuse,  undreamed  of — wiles 
Of  Mary,  and  her  mermaid  smiles  ! 

Thou  saw'st  Montrose's  passing  face 
Shame-strike  the  gloating  silk  and  lace, 

And  jeering  plumes  that  filled 
The  balcony  o'erhead  ;  with  pride 
Thou  saw'st  Prince  Charles  bare-headed  ride 

While  bagpipes  round  him  shrilled, 
And  far  Culloden's  smoky  racks 
Hid  scaffold  craped,  and  bloody  axe. 

What  wine  hast  thou  known  brawl  be-spilt ! 
What  daggers  ruddy  to  the  hilt  ! 

What  stately  minuets 
Walked  slowly  o'er  thy  oaken  floors  ! 
What  hasty  kisses  at  thy  doors  ! 

What  banquetings  and  bets  ! 
What  talk,  o'er  man  that  lives  and  errs, 
Of  double-chinned  philosophers  ! 

5—2 


68  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Great  City,  every  morning  I 
See  thy  wild  fringes  in  the  sky, 

Soft-blurr'd  with  smoky  grace  : 
Each  evening  note  the  blazing  sun 
Flush  luridly  thy  vapours  dun — 

A  spire  athwart  his  face  : 
Each  night  I  watch  thy  wondrous  feast, 
Like  some  far  city  in  the  East. 

But  most  I  love  thee  faint  and  fair, 
Dim-pencill'd  in  the  April  air, 

When  in  the  dewy  bush 
I  hear  from  budded  thick  remote 
The  rapture  of  the  blackbird's  throat, 

The  sweet  note  of  the  thrush  ; 
And  all  is  shadowless  and  clear 
In  the  uncoloured  atmosphere. 
•  •  •  • 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 

(last  poem,  unfinished). 
EDINBURGH 


CITY  of  mist  and  rain  and  blown  grey  spaces, 

Dashed  with  wild  wet  colour  and  gleam  of  tears, 
Dreaming  in  Holyrood  halls  of  the  passionate  faces 

Lifted  to  one  Queen's  face  that  has  conquered  the 

years, 
Are  not  the  halls  of  thy  memory  haunted  places  ? 

Cometh  there  not  as  a  moon  (where  the  blood-rust 

sears 
Floors  a-flutter  of  old  with  silks  and  laces), 

Gliding,  a  ghostly  Queen,  thro'  a  mist  of  tears  ? 


THE  PRAISE  OF  EDINBURGH  69 

ii. 

Proudly  here,  with  a  loftier  pinnacled  splendour, 

Throned  in  his  northern  Athens,  what  spells  re- 
main 
Still  on  the  marble  lips  of  the  Wizard,  and  render 

Silent  the  gazer  on  glory  without  a  stain  ! 
Here  and  here,  do  we  whisper,  with  hearts  more 
tender, 

Tusitala  wandered  thro'  mist  and  rain, 
Rainbow-eyed  and  frail  and  gallant  and  slender, 

Dreaming  of  pirate-isles  in  a  jewelled  main. 

III. 

Up  the  Canongate  climbeth,  cleft  asunder 

Raggedly  here,  with  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  sea 
Flashed  thro'  a  crumbling  alley,  a  glimpse  of  wonder  ! 

Nay,  for  the  City  is  throned  on  Eternity  ! 
Hark  !  from  the  soaring  Castle  a  cannon's  thunder 

Closeth  an  hour  for  the  world  and  an  aeon  for  me, 
Gazing  at  last  from  the  war-swept  heights  where- 
under 

Deathless  memories  roll  to  an  ageless  sea. 

ALFRED   NOYES. 


TO   EDINBURGH 

FAREWELL   VERSES 

QUEEN  of  cities,  for  the  last  time 
Now  mine  eyes  upon  you  fall, 
Looking  down  upon  your  Palace, 
Gazing  up  to  Castle  wall. 


70  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

While  I  view  your  long  and  stately 
Street,  and  many  a  noble  square, 

Let  them  fade  in  wonted  beauty 
As  eve's  lamps  are  planted  there. 

Let  me  muse  upon  your  history 

In  these  moments  that  are  mine, 
As  it  passes  here  before  me 

Like  a  pageant  divine  ; 
As  a  masque  of  stately  figures 

Fancy  conjures  from  your  past, 
Men  and  women  whose  life's  story 

Shall  be  told  while  ages  last.  .  .  . 

City,  as  I  muse  upon  you, 

Thus  the  pageant  goes  by, 
And  before  me  one  Queen  passes, 

Falleth  from  her  lips  a  sigh, — 
Mary,  that  elusive  woman, 

Fathomed  not  shall  be  her  tale, 
Nor  her  story  be  unravelled 

While  the  ages  long  prevail. 

Queen  of  cities,  fade  in  splendour  ! 

To  your  twilight  bells  I  list ; 
Palace,  die  in  pearly  shadow, 

Castle,  fade  in  purple  mist ! 
North  or  south,  whichever  calls  me, 

East  or  west,  where'er  I  be, 
Nought  shall  dim  your  fame  and  beauty, 

City  of  my  memory  ! 

A.    HUME   HAMILTON. 


EDINBURGH  TOWN 


'  Come  wi'  me,  Jock,  and  I'll  show  ye  Edinburgh,  as  you  have 
showed  me  the  hills  of  heather  !'  This  was  Ralph's  invita- 
tion. 

'  Na,'  said  Jock,  '  an'  thank  ye  kindly  a'  the  same.  There's 
muckle  cankersome  loons  there  that  micht  snap  up  a  guid- 
lookin'  lad  like  Jock,  an'  ship  him  ontill  their  nesty  ships  afore 
he  could  say  "  Mulwharchar  and  Craignell !"  Jock  Gordon  may 
be  a  fule,  but  he  kens  when  he's  weel  aff.  Nae  Auld  Reekies 
for  him,  an1  thank  ye  kindly.' 

S.    R.    CROCKETT. 

From  the  summit  of  Calton  Hill,  there  is  a  prospect  un- 
equalled by  any  to  be  seen  from  the  midst  of  a  great  city. 
Westward  lies  the  Forth,  and  beyond  it,  dimly  blue,  the  far 
away  Highland  hills  ;  eastward,  rise  the  bold  contours  of 
Arthur's  Seat,  and  the  rugged  crags  of  the  Castle  Rock,  with 
the  grey  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  ;  while,  far  below,  from  a 
maze  of  crowded  thoroughfares,  the  hoarse  murmur  of  the 
toil  of  a  polity  of  energetic  men  is  borne  upon  the  ear.  At 
times,  a  man  may  be  as  solitary  here  as  in  a  veritable  wilder- 
ness ;  and  may  meditate  undisturbedly  upon  the  epitome  of 
nature  and  of  man — the  kingdoms  of  this  world — spread  out 
before  him. 

PROFESSOR    HUXLEY. 


APPROACHING  A  MAGICAL  CITY 

AFTER  losing  sight  of  the  Hill  of  Cromarty,  the  Leith 
smack  in  which  I  sailed  was  slowly  threading  her 
way,  in  a  morning  of  light  airs  and  huge  broken  fog- 
wreaths,  through  the  lower  tracts  of  the  Firth  of 
Forth.  The  islands  and  distant  land  looked  dim  and 
grey  through  the  haze,  like  objects  in  an  unfinished 
drawing  ;  and  at  times  some  vast  low-browed  cloud 
from  the  sea  applied  the  sponge  as  it  rolled  past,  and 
blotted  out  half  a  county  at  a  time  ;  but  the  sun  occa- 
sionally broke  forth  in  partial  glimpses  of  great 
beauty,  and  brought  out  into  bold  relief  little  bits  of 
the  landscape — now  a  town,  and  now  an  islet,  and 
anon  the  blue  summit  of  a  hill.  A  sunlit  wreath  rose 
from  around  the  abrupt  and  rugged  Bass  as  we 
passed  ;  and  my  heart  leaped  within  me  as  I  saw,  for 
the  first  time,  that  stern  Patmos  of  the  devout  and 
brave  of  another  age  looming  dark  and  high  through 
the  diluted  mist,  and  enveloped  for  a  moment,  as 
the  cloud  parted,  in  an  amber-tinted  glory.  ...  I 
looked  with  a  double  interest  on  the  bold  sea-girt 
rock,  and  the  sun-gilt  cloud  that  rose  over  its  scared 
forehead,  like  that  still  brighter  halo  which  glorifies 
in  the  memories  of  the  Scottish  people.  Many  a  long- 
cherished  association  drew  my  thoughts  to  Edin- 
burgh. I  was  acquainted  with  Ramsay,  and  Fer- 
gusson,  and  the  '  Humphrey  Clinker  '  of  Smollett, 
and  had  read  a  description  of  the  place  in  the  '  Mar- 
mion  '  and  the  earlier  novels  of  Scott ;  and  I  was 
not  yet  too  old  to  feel  as  if  I  were  approaching  a  great 
73 


74  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

magical  city — like  some  of  those  in  the  '  Arabian 
Nights  ' — that  was  even  more  intensely  poetical  than 
Nature  itself.  I  did  somewhat  chide  the  tantalizing 
mist,  that,  like  a  capricious  showman,  now  raised  one 
corner  of  its  curtain,  and  anon  another,  and  showed 
me  the  place  at  once  very  indistinctly,  and  only  by 
bits  at  a  time  ;  and  yet  I  know  not  that  I  could  in 
reality  have  seen  it  to  greater  advantage,  or  after  a 
mode  more  in  harmony  with  my  previous  conceptions. 
...  At  one  time  a  flat  reach  of  the  New  Town  came 
full  into  view,  along  which,  in  the  general  dimness, 
the  multitudinous  chimneys  stood  up  like  stacks  of 
corn  in  a  field  newly  reaped  ;  at  another  the  Castle 
loomed  out  dark  in  the  cloud  ;  then,  as  if  suspended 
over  the  earth,  the  rugged  summit  of  Arthur's  Seat 
came  strongly  out,  while  its  base  still  remained  in- 
visible in  the  wreath  ;  and  anon  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  distant  Pentlands,  enveloped  by  a  clear  blue  sky, 
and  lighted  up  by  the  sun.  Leith,  with  its  thicket 
of  masts,  and  its  tall  round  Tower,  lay  deep  in  shade 
in  the  foreground.  .  .  .  Such  was  the  strangely 
picturesque  countenance  with  which  I  was  favoured 
by  the  Scottish  capital,  when  forming  my  earliest 
acquaintance  with  it.  ... 

I  was  as  entirely  unacquainted  with  great  towns 
at  this  time  as  the  shepherd  in  Virgil ;  and,  excited 
ay  what  I  saw,  I  sadly  tasked  my  friend's  peripatetic 
abilities,  and,  I  fear,  his  patience  also,  in  taking  an 
admiring  survey  of  all  the  more  characteristic  streets, 
and  then  in  setting  out  for  the  top  of  Arthur's  Seat — 
from  which,  this  evening,  I  watched  the  sun  set  behind 
the  distant  Lomonds — that  I  might  acquaint  myself 
with  the  features  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  the 
effect  of  the  city  as  a  whole.  And  amid  much  con- 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  75 

fused  and  imperfect  recollections  of  picturesque 
groups  of  ancient  buildings,  and  magnificent  assem- 
blages of  elegant  modern  ones,  I  carried  away  with 
me  two  vividly  distinct  ideas — first  results,  as  a 
painter  might  say,  of  a  '  fresh  eye,'  which  no  after 
survey  has  served  to  freshen  or  intensify.  I  felt  that 
I  had  seen,  not  one,  but  two  cities — a  city  of  the  past 
and  a  city  of  the  present — set  down  side  by  side,  as  if 
for  purposes  of  comparison,  with  a  picturesque  valley 
drawn  like  a  deep  score  between  them,  to  mark  off  the 
line  of  division.  And  such  in  reality  seems  to  be  the 
grand  peculiarity  of  the  Scottish  capital — its  dis- 
tinguishing trait  among  the  cities  of  the  empire  ; 
though,  of  course  .  .  .  greatly  modernized  in  many 
parts,  has  become  less  uniformly  and  consistently 
antique  in  its  aspect.  ...  Of  its  older  portions  I 
used  never  to  tire  :  I  found  I  could  walk  among  them 
as  purely  for  the  pleasure  which  accrued  as  among 
the  wild  and  picturesque  of  Nature  itself. 

HUGH    MILLER. 


LORD  MARMION  ENTERS  EDINBURGH 

THUS  through  the  Scottish  camp  they  pass'd, 
And  reach  the  City  gate  at  last, 
Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard, 
Arm'd  burghers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 
Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear, 
When  lay  encamped,  in  field  so  near, 
The  Borderer  and  the  Mountaineer. 
As  through  the  bustling  streets  they  go, 
All  was  alive  with  martial  show  : 
At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clang, 
The  armourer's  anvil  clash'd  and  rang  ; 


76  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Or  toil'd  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 

The  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel ; 

Or  axe,  or  falchion,  to  the  side 

Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 

Page,  groom,  and  squire,  with  hurrying  pace, 

Through  street,  and  lane,  and  market-place, 

Bore  lance,  or  casque,  or  sword  ; 
While  burghers,  with  important  face, 

Described  each  new-come  lord, 
Discuss'd  his  lineage,  told  his  name, 
His  following,  and  his  warlike  fame. 
The  Lion  led  to  lodging  meet, 
Which  high  o'erlook'd  the  crowded  street ; 

There  must  the  Baron  rest, 
Till  past  the  hour  of  vesper  tide, 
And  then  to  Holy-Rood  must  ride — 

Such  was  the  King's  behest. 
Meanwhile  the  Lion's  care  assigns 
A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines, 

To  Marmion  and  his  train  ; 
And  when  the  appointed  hour  succeeds, 
The  Baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds, 
And  following  Lindesay  as  he  leads, 

The  palace-halls  they  gain. 

Old  Holy-Rood  rung  merrily 
That  night,  with  wassell,  mirth,  and  glee  ; 
King  James  within  her  princely  bower 
Feasted  the  Chiefs  of  Scotland's  power, 
Summon'd  to  spend  the  parting  hour  ; 
For  he  had  charged,  that  his  array 
Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 
Well  loved  that  splendid  monarch  aye 
The  banquet  and  the  song. 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  77 

By  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 
The  merry  dance,  traced  fast  and  light, 
The  maskers  quaint,  the  pageant  bright, 

The  revel  loud  and  long. 
This  feast  outshone  his  banquets  past, 
It  was  his  blithest — and  his  last. 
The  dazzling  lamps,  from  gallery  gay, 
Cast  on  the  Court  a  dancing  ray  ; 
Here  to  the  harp  did  minstrels  sing  ; 
There  ladies  touch'd  a  softer  string  ; 
With  long-ear'd  cap,  and  motley  vest, 
The  licensed  fool  retail'd  his  jest ; 
His  magic  tricks  the  juggler  plied  ; 
At  dice  and  draughts  the  gallants  vied  ; 
While  some,  in  close  recess  apart, 
Courted  the  ladies  of  their  heart, 

Nor  courted  them  in  vain  ; 
For  often,  in  the  parting  hour, 
Victorious  Love  asserts  his  power 

O'er  coldness  and  disdain  ; 
And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 
To  battle  march  a  lover  true — 
Can  hear,  perchance,  his  last  adieu, 

Nor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

Through  this  mix'd  crowd  of  glee  and  game, 
The  King  to  greet  Lord  Marmion  came, 

While,  reverent,  all  made  room. 
An  easy  task  it  was,  I  trow, 
King  James's  manly  form  to  know, 
Although,  his  courtesy  to  show, 
He  doff  d  to  Marmion  bending  low, 

His  broider'd  cap  and  plume. 
For  royal  was  his  garb  and  mien, 


78  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  piled, 
Trimm'd  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild  ; 

His  vest  of  changeful  satin  sheen, 
The  dazzled  eye  beguiled  ; 

His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown, 

Wrought  with  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown, 

The  thistle  brave,  of  old  renown  ; 

His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right, 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright  ; 

White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 

His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel ; 

His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair, 

Was  button'd  with  a  ruby  rare  : 

And  Marmion  deem'd  he  ne'er  had  seen 

A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


FROM  DUNBAR  TO  EDINBURGH 

DEAR  LEWIS, — Dunbar  is  well  situated  for  trade,  and 
has  a  curious  basin,  where  ships  of  small  burden  may 
be  perfectly  secure ;  but  there  is  little  appearance  of 
business  in  the  place.  From  thence,  all  the  way 
to  Edinburgh,  there  is  a  continual  succession  of  fine 
seats  belonging  to  noblemen  and  gentlemen  ;  and,  as 
each  is  surrounded  by  its  own  parks  and  plantation, 
they  produce  a  very  pleasing  effect  in  a  country 
which  lies  otherwise  open  and  exposed.  At  Dunbar 
there  is  a  noble  park,  with  a  lodge,  belonging  to  the 
Duke  of  Roxburgh,  where  Oliver  Cromwell  had  his 
head-quarters,  when  Leslie,  at  the  head  of  a  Scotch 
army,  took  possession  of  the  mountains  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  hampered  in  such  a  manner,  that  he 
would  have  been  obliged  to  embark  and  get  away  by 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  79 

sea,  had  not  the  fanaticism  of  the  enemy  forfeited 
the  advantage  which  they  had  obtained  by  their 
general's  conduct.  Their  ministers,  by  exhortation, 
prayer,  assurance,  and  prophecy,  instigated  them  to 
go  down  and  slay  the  Philistines  in  Gilgal,  and  they 
quitted  their  ground  accordingly,  notwithstanding 
all  that  Leslie  could  do  to  restrain  the  madness  of 
their  enthusiasm.  When  Oliver  saw  them  in  motion, 
he  exclaimed,  '  Praised  be  the  Lord,  he  hath  de- 
livered them  into  the  hands  of  his  servant  !'  and 
ordered  his  troops  to  sing  a  psalm  of  thanksgiving, 
while  they  advanced  in  order  to  the  plain,  where  the 
Scotch  were  routed  with  great  slaughter.  ...  At 
Musselburgh,  however,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
drink  tea  with  my  old  friend  Mr.  Cardonel,  and  at  his 
house  I  met  with  Dr.  Caiiyle,  the  parson  of  the 
parish,  whose  humour  and  conversation  inflamed  me 
with  a  desire  of  being  better  acquainted  with  his 
person.  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  that  these  Scotch 
make  their  way  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe. 

This  place  is  but  four  miles  from  Edinburgh, 
towards  which  we  proceeded  along  the  sea-shore, 
upon  a  firm  bottom  of  smooth  sand,  which  the  tide 
had  left  uncovered  in  its  retreat.  Edinburgh,  from 
this  avenue,  is  not  seen  to  much  advantage  ;  we  had 
only  an  imperfect  view  of  the  castle  and  upper  parts 
of  the  town,  which  varied  incessantly  according  to 
the  inflections  of  the  road,  and  exhibited  the  appear- 
ance of  detached  spires  and  turrets,  belonging  to  some 
magnificent  edifice  in  ruins. 

The  palace  of  Holyrood-house  stands  on  the  left 
as  you  enter  the  Canongate.  This  is  a  street  con- 
tinued from  hence  to  the  gate  called  the  Netherbow, 
which  is  now  taken  away  ;  so  that  there  is  no  interrup- 


8o  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

tion  for  a  long  mile,  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of  the 
hill,  on  which  the  castle  stands  in  a  most  imperial 
situation.  Considering  its  fine  pavement,  its  width, 
and  the  lofty  houses  on  each  side,  this  would  be  un- 
doubtedly one  of  the  noblest  streets  in  Europe,  if  an 
ugly  mass  of  mean  buildings,  called  the  Luckenbooths, 
had  not  thrust  itself,  by  what  accident  I  know  not, 
into  the  middle  of  the  way,  hke  Middle  Row  in 
Holborn.  The  city  stands  upon  two  hills,  and  the 
bottom  between  them  ;  and,  with  all  its  defects,  may 
very  well  pass  for  the  capital  of  a  moderate  kingdom. 
It  is  full  of  people  ;  and  continually  resounds  with 
the  noise  of  coaches  and  other  carriages,  for  luxury  as 
well  as  commerce.  .  .  .  All  the  people  of  business 
at  Edinburgh,  and  even  the  genteel  company,  may  be 
seen  standing  in  crowds  every  day,  from  one  to  two 
in  the  afternoon,  in  the  open  street,  at  a  place  where 
formerly  stood  a  market  cross,  which,  by  the  bye,  was 
a  curious  piece  of  Gothic  architecture,  still  to  be  seen 
in  Lord  Somerville's  garden  in  this  neighbourhood  : 
I  say  the  people  stand  in  the  open  street  from  the  force 
of  custom  rather  than  move  a  few  yards  to  an  ex- 
change, that  stands  empty  on  one  side,  or  to  the 
Parliament  close  on  the  other,  which  is  a  noble  square, 
adorned  with  a  fine  equestrian  statue  of  King 
Charles  II.  The  company  thus  assembled  are  enter- 
tained with  a  variety  of  tunes,  played  upon  a  set  of 
bells,  fixed  in  a  steeple  hard  by.  As  these  bells  are 
well  toned,  and  the  musician,  who  has  a  salary  from 
the  city  for  playing  upon  them  with  keys,  is  no  bad 
performer,  the  entertainment  is  really  agreeable,  and 
very  striking  to  the  ears  of  a  stranger.  .  .  . 

I   shall   stay   [in   Edinburgh]   until   I   have  seen 
everything   that   is   remarkable   in   and   about   this 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  81 

capital.  I  now  begin  to  feel  the  good  effect  of  exer- 
cise. I  eat  like  a  farmer,  sleep  from  midnight  till 
eight  in  the  morning,  without  interruption,  and  enjoy 
a  constant  tide  of  spirits,  equally  distant  from  in- 
anition and  excess  ;  but  whatever  ebbs  or  flows  my 
constitution  may  undergo,  my  heart  will  still  declare 
that  I  am,  dear  Lewis,  your  affectionate  friend  and 
servant,  MATT.  BRAMBLE. 

TOBIAS   SMOLLETT. 
EDINBURGH,  July  i8th. 

THE  MERRY  GLEE  OF  EDINBURGH  TOWN 

FAREWELL,  my  bonny,  lovely,  witty,  pretty  Maggy, 

And  a'  the  rosy  lasses  milking  on  the  down  : 
Adieu  the  flowery  meadows,  aft  sae  dear  to  Jocky, 

The  sports  and  merry  glee  of  Edinborrow  town. 
Since  French  and  Spanish  lowns  stand  at  bay, 
And  valiant  lads  of  Britain  hold  'em  play, 
My  reap-hook  I  maun  cast  quite  away, 

And  fight  too  like  a  man 

Among  'em  for  our  royal  Queen  Anne. 

Each  carle  of  Irish  mettle  battles  like  a  dragon  : 

The  Germans  waddle,  and  straddle  to  the  drum  ; 
The  Italian  and  the  butter  bowzy  Hogan  Morgan  : 

Good  -  faith   then,    Scottish    Jocky   mauna  ly  at 

hame  : 

For  since  they  are  ganging  to  hunt  renown, 
And    swear    they'll    quickly    ding    auld    Monsieur 

down, 
I'll  follow  for  a  pluck  at  his  crown, 

To  show  that  Scotland  can 

Excel  'em  for  our  royal  Queen  Anne. 

ALLAN    RAMSAY. 
6 


82  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 


THE  distant  view  of  Edinburgh  is  picturesque  and 
romantic.  ...  It  is,  compared  to  that  of  London, 
what  the  poem  of  the  Seasons  is  with  respect  to  Para- 
dise Lost,  the  castellated  descriptions  of  Walter  Scott 
to  the  Darkness  of  Byron,  the  Sabbath  of  Graham  to 
the  Robbers  of  Schiller.  In  the  approach  to  Edin- 
burgh, leisure  and  cheerfulness  are  on  the  road  : 
large  spaces  of  rural  and  pastoral  nature  are  spread 
openly  around  :  and  mountains,  and  seas,  and  head- 
lands :  and  vessels  passing  beyond  them,  going  like 
those  that  die,  we  know  not  whither,  while  the  sun  is 
bright  on  their  sails,  and  hope  with  them.  But  in 
coming  to  this  Babylon  there  is  an  eager  haste  and  a 
hurrying  on  from  all  quarters  towards  that  stupendous 
pile  of  gloom,  through  which  no  eye  can  penetrate  ;  an 
unceasing  sound,  like  the  enginery  of  an  earthquake 
at  work,  rolls  from  the  heart  of  that  profound  and 
indefinable  obscurity ;  sometimes  a  faint  and  yellow 
beam  of  the  sun  strikes  here  and  there  on  the  vast 
expanse  of  edifices,  and  churches  and  holy  asylums 
are  dimly  seen  lifting  up  their  countless  steeples  and 
spires — like  so  many  lightning-rods  to  avert  the  wrath 
of  Heaven. 

The  entrance  to  Edinburgh  awakens  feelings  of  a 
more  pleasing  character  also.  The  rugged,  veteran 
aspect  of  the  Old  Town  is  agreeably  contrasted  with 
the  bright,  smooth  forehead  of  the  New,  and  there  is 
not  such  an  overwhelming  torrent  of  animal  life  as 
to  make  you  pause  before  venturing  to  stem  it  :  the 
noises  are  not  so  deafening,  and  the  occasional  sound 
of  a  ballad-singer  or  of  a  Highland  piper  varies  and 
enriches  the  discords.  But  here,  a  multitudinous 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  83 

assemblage  of  harsh  alarms,  of  selfish  contentions,  and 
of  furious  carriages  driven  by  a  fierce  and  insolent 
race,  shatter  the  very  hearing,  till  you  partake  of  the 
activity  with  which  all  seem  as  much  possessed  as  if 
a  general  apprehension  prevailed  that  the  great  clock 
of  Time  would  strike  the  doom-hour  before  their 
tasks  were  done.  .  .  . 

Betimes  in  the  morning,  having  taken  our  break- 
fast, we  got  a  caddy  to  guide  us  and  our  wallise  to 
Widow  M'Vicar's,  at  the  head  of  the  Covenanters' 
Close.  She  was  a  relation  to  my  first  wife,  Betty 
Lanshaw,  my  own  full  cousin  that  was,  and  we  had 
advised  her,  by  course  of  post,  of  our  coming  and 
intendment  to  lodge  with  her  as  uncos  and  strangers. 
But  Mrs.  M'Vicar  kept  a  cloth  shop  and  sold  plaidings 
and  flannels,  besides  Yorkshire  superfines,  and  was 
use  to  the  sudden  incoming  of  strangers,  especially 
visitants,  from  both  the  West  and  the  North  High- 
lands, and  was  withal  a  gawsy,  furthy  woman,  taking 
great  pleasure  in  hospitality,  and  every  sort  of  kindli- 
ness and  discretion  ;  and  she  would  not  allow  of  such 
a  thing  as  our  being  lodgers  in  her  house,  but  was  so 
cagey  to  see  us,  and  to  have  it  in  her  power  to  be  civil 
to  a  minister  (as  she  was  pleased  to  say)  of  such 
repute,  that  nothing  less  would  content  her  but  that 
we  must  live  upon  her,  and  partake  of  all  the  best 
that  could  be  gotten  for  us  within  the  walls  of  '  the 
gude  town.' 

When  we  found  ourselves  so  comfortable,  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  and  me  waited  on  my  patron's  family 
that  was,  the  young  ladies,  and  the  laird,  who  had 
been  my  pupil,  but  was  now  an  advocate  high  in  the 
law.  They  likewise  were  kind.  In  short,  everybody 
in  Edinburgh  was  in  a  manner  wearisome  kind,  and 

6—2 


84  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

we  could  scarcely  find  time  to  see  the  Castle  and  the 
palace  of  Holyrood  House,  and  the  more  sanctified 
place  where  the  Maccabeus  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland, 
John  Knox,  was  wont  to  live.  ...  It  was  in  this 
visit  to  Edinburgh  that  Mrs.  Balwhidder  bought  her 
silver  teapot,  and  other  ornamental  articles ;  but 
this  was  not  done,  as  she  assured  me,  in  a  vain  spirit 
of  bravery  (which  I  could  not  have  abided),  because 
it  was  well  known  that  tea  draws  better  in  a  silver 
pot,  and  drinks  pleasanter  in  a  china  cup,  than  out  of 
any  other  kind  of  cup  or  teapot. 

JOHN   GALT. 
DUN-EDIN 

SEE  yon  little  hamlet,  o'ershadowed  with  smoke  ; 
See  yon  hoary  battlement  throned  on  the  rock  ; 
Even  there  shall  a  city  in  splendour  break  forth, — 
The  haughty  Dun-Edin,  the  Queen  of  the  North  ; 
There  learning  shall  flourish,  and  liberty  smile, — 
The  awe  of  the  world,  and  the  pride  of  the  isle. 

But  thy  lonely  spirit  shall  roam  in  dismay, 
And  weep  o'er  thy  labours  so  soon  to  decay, 
In  yon  western  plain,  where  thy  power  overthrew 
The  bulwarks  of  Caledon,  valiant  and  few  ; 
Where   beamed   the   red    faulchion   of   ravage   and 

wrath ; 

Where  tyranny,  horsed  on  the  dragons  of  death, 
Rode  ruthless  through  blood  of  the  honoured  and  just, 
When  Graeme  and  brave  Stuart  lay  bleeding  in  dust, 
The  wailings  of  liberty  pierced  the  sky  ; 
The  Eternal,  in  pity,  averted  His  eye  ! 

Even  there  the  dread  power  of  thy  nations  com- 
bined, 
Proud  England,  green  Erin,  and  Normandy  joined, 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  85 

Exulting  in  numbers,  and  dreadful  array, 

Led  on  by  Carnavon,  to  Scotland  away, 

As  thick  as  the  snow-flakes  that  pour  from  the  pole, 

Or  silver-maned  waves  on  the  ocean  that  roll, 

By  a  handful  of  heroes,  all  desperate  driven, 

Impelled  by  the  might  and  the  vengeance  of  heaven, — 

By  them  shall  these  legions  be  all  overborne, 

And  melt  from  the  field  like  the  mist  of  the  morn. 

The  Thistle  shall  rear  her  rough  front  to  the  sky, 

And  the  Rose  and  the  Shamrock  at  Carron  shall  die. 

JAMES  HOGG. 

ENTERING  EDINBURGH 

DEAR  WAT, — We  entered  Scotland  by  a  frightful 
muir  of  sixteen  miles,  which  promises  very  little  for 
the  interior  parts  of  the  kingdom  ;  but  the  prospect 
mended  as  we  advanced.  Passing  through  Dunbar, 
which  is  a  neat  little  town,  situated  on  the  sea-side, 
we  lay  at  a  country  inn,  where  our  entertainment  far 
exceeded  our  expectation.  .  .  .  Yesterday  we  dined 
at  Haddington,  which  has  been  a  place  of  some  con- 
sideration, but  is  now  gone  to  decay  ;  and  in  the 
evening  arrived  [at  Edinburgh].  It  is  very  romantic, 
from  its  situation  on  the  declivity  of  a  hill,  having  a 
fortified  castle  at  the  top,  and  a  royal  palace  at  the 
bottom.  .  .  .  What  first  strikes  the  eye  is  the  uncon- 
scionable height  of  the  houses,  which  generally  rise 
to  five,  six,  seven,  and  eight  stories,  and,  in  some 
places  (as  I  am  assured)  to  twelve.  This  manner  of 
building,  attended  with  numberless  inconveniences, 
must  have  been  originally  owing  to  want  of  room. 
Certain  it  is,  the  town  seems  to  be  full  of  people  ;  but 
their  books,  their  language,  and  their  customs,  are  so 


86  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

different  from  ours,  that  I  can  hardly  believe  myself 
in  Great  Britain.  .  .  .  Recollecting  that  [my  uncle] 
had  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  one  Mr.  Mitchelson, 
a  lawyer,  he  sent  it  by  his  servant,  with  a  compliment, 
imparting  that  he  would  wait  upon  him  next  day  in 
person  ;  but  that  gentleman  visited  us  immediately, 
and  insisted  upon  our  going  to  his  own  house,  until  he 
could  provide  lodgings  for  our  accommodation.  We 
gladly'  accepted  of  his  invitation,  and  repaired  to  his 
house,  where  we  were  treated  with  equal  elegance 
and  hospitality,  to  the  utter  confusion  of  our  aunt, 
whose  prejudices,  though  beginning  to  give  way,  were 
not  yet  entirely  removed.  To-day,  by  the  assistance 
of  our  friend,  we  are  settled  in  convenient  lodgings, 
up  four  pair  of  stairs,  in  the  High  Street,  the  fourth 
story  being,  in  this  city,  reckoned  more  genteel  than 
the  first.  The  air  is,  in  all  probability,  the  better  ; 
but  it  requires  good  lungs  to  breathe  it  at  this  distance 
above  the  surface  of  the  earth.  While  I  do  remain 
above  it,  whether  higher  or  lower,  provided  I  breathe 
at  all,  I  shall  ever  be,  dear  Philip,  yours,  J.  MELFORD. 

_.  TOBIAS   SMOLLETT. 

EDINBURGH,  July  iBth. 

WITHIN  A  MILE  OF  EDINBURGH  TOWN 

TWAS  within  a  mile  of  Edinburgh  town, 

In  the  rosy  time  of  the  year, 
Sweet  flowers  bloom'd  and  the  grass  was  down, 
And  each  shepherd  woo'd  his  dear. 
Bonnie  Jockie,  blythe  and  gay, 
Kissed  young  Jennie  making  hay  ; 
The  lassie  blushed,  and  frowning  cried, 
'  Na,  na,  it  winna  do  : 
'  I  canna,  winna,  maunna  buckle  to.' 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  87 

Jockie  was  a  wag  that  never  wad  wed, 

Though  lang  he  had  followed  the  lass  ; 
Contented  she  earned  and  ate  her  brown  bread, 
And  merrily  turned  up  the  grass. 
Bonnie  Jockie,  blythe  and  free, 
Won  her  heart  right  merrily  ; 
Yet  still  she  blushed,  and  frowning  cried, 
'  Na,  na,  it  winna  do  : 
'  I  canna,  winna,  maunna  buckle  to.' 

But  when  he  vow'd  he  wad  make  her  his  bride, 

Though  his  flocks  and  herds  were  not  few, 
She  gie'd  him  her  hand  and  a  kiss  beside, 
And  vow'd  she'd  for  ever  be  true. 
Bonnie  Jockie,  blythe  and  free, 
Won  her  heart  right  merrily  ; 
At  kirk  so  no  more  frowning  cried  : 
'  Na,  na,  it  winna  do  : 
'  I  canna,  winna,  maunna  buckle  to.' 

T.  D'UFREY. 

THOUGHTS  ON  MAKING  EDINBURGH'S 
ACQUAINTANCE 

I  KNOW  not  a  feeling  of  more  delightful  excitation 
than  that  which  attends  a  traveller,  when  he  sallies 
out  on  a  fine  clear  morning,  to  make  his  first  survey  of 
a  splendid  city,  to  which  he  is  a  stranger.  I  have 
often  before  experienced  this  charming  spirit-stirring 
sensation.  ...  A  thick  blue  smoke  hung  low  upon 
the  houses,  and  their  outlines  reposed  behind  on  ridges 
of  purple  cloud  ;  the  smoke  and  the  clouds,  and  the 
murky  air,  giving  yet  more  extravagant  bulk  and 
altitude  to  those  huge  strange  dwellings,  and  in- 
creasing the  power  of  contrast  which  met  our  view, 


88  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

when  a  few  paces  more  brought  us  once  again  upon 
the  New  Town,  the  airy  bridge,  the  bright  green  vale 
below  and  beyond  it,  and  skirting  the  line  of  the  vale 
on  either  side,  the  rough  crags  of  the  Castle  rock, 
and  the  broad  glare  of  Princes  Street,  that  most  superb 
of  terraces  ;  steeples  and  towers,  and  cupolas  scattered 
bright  beneath  our  feet ;  and,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
the  whole  pomp  and  richness  of  distant  commotion, 
the  heart  of  the  city.  Such  was  my  first  view  of 
Edinburgh.  I  descended  again  into  her  streets  in  a 
sort  of  stupor  of  admiration.  .  .  .  The  way  [to 
Holyrood]  lies  straight  down  the  only  great  street  of 
the  Old  Town,  a  street  by  far  the  most  impressive  in 
its  character  of  any  I  have  ever  seen  in  Britain.  The 
sombre  shadows,  cast  by  those  huge  houses  of  which 
it  is  composed,  and  the  streams  of  faint  light  cutting 
the  darkness  here  and  there,  where  the  entrance  to 
some  fantastic  alley  pierces  the  sable  mass  of  building  ; 
the  strange  projectings,  recedings,  and  windings  ;  the 
roofs,  the  stairs,  the  windows,  all  so  luxuriating  in 
endless  variety  of  carved  work  ;  the  fading  and  moul- 
dering coats  of  arms,  helmets,  crests,  coronets,  sup- 
porters, mantles,  and  pavilions  ;  all  these  testimonials 
of  forgotten  pride,  mingled  so  profusely  with  the 
placards  of  old-clothes  men,  and  every  sign  of 
plebeian  wretchedness  ;  it  is  not  possible  to  imagine 
more  speaking  emblems  of  the  decay  of  a  once  royal 
city.  .  .  .  Since  I  came  to  this  town  the  weather 
has  in  general  been  of  a  very  unpleasant  kind.  When 
you  look  out  from  the  windows  of  your  apartment, 
nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  appearance  everything 
presents.  The  air  is  as  clear  as  amber  overhead,  and 
the  sun  shines  with  so  much  power,  that  in  these 
splendid  streets,  the  division  of  the  bright  from  the 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  89 

shadowy  part,  reminds  one  of  the  richest  effects  of  a 
Cuyp,  or  a  Sachtleeven.  .  .  .  Either  at  what  hour 
or  from  what  point  of  view,  the  external  appearance 
of  this  city  is  productive  of  the  noblest  effect.  I 
walk  round  and  round  it,  and  survey  it  from  east, 
west,  north  and  south,  and  everywhere  it  assumes 
some  new  and  glorious  aspect,  which  delights  me  so 
much  at  the  moment,  that  I  am  inclined  to  think  I 
have  at  last  hit  upon  the  true  station  from  whence  to 
survey  its  beauties.  A  few  steps  bring  me  to  some 
new  eminence,  from  which  some  yet  wider  and  more 
diversified  picture  of  its  magnificence  opens  itself  to  my 
eyes,  or  perhaps  to  some  winding  ravine,  the  dark  and 
precipitous  sides  of  which,  while  they  shut  out  much 
of  this  imposing  expanse  of  magnitude,  form  a  deep 
and  concentrating  framework,  in  whose  centre  some 
one  isolated  fragment  assumes  a  character  of  sublimity, 
that  seems  almost  to  throw  the  wider  field  of  variety 
and  splendour  into  temporary  shade.  I  have  at  last 
given  up  the  attempt  ;  and  am  contented  to  let  my 
admiration  be  as  impartial  as  the  charm  is  universal. 

J.   G.    LOCKHART. 


THE  GRAY  METROPOLIS  OF  THE  NORTH 

0  LOVE,  what  hours  were  thine  and  mine, 
In  lands  of  palm  and  southern  pine  ; 

In  lands  of  palm,  of  orange-blossom, 
Of  olive,  aloe,  and  maize  and  vine. 

We  took  our  last  adieu, 
And  up  the  snowy  Splugen  drew, 

But  ere  we  reach' d  the  highest  summit, 

1  pluck'd  a  daisy,  I  gave  it  you. 


90  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

It  told  of  England  then  to  me, 
And  now  it  tells  of  Italy. 

O  Love,  we  two  shall  go  no  longer 
To  lands  of  summer  across  the  sea  ; 

So  dear  a  life  your  arms  enfold 
Whose  crying  is  a  cry  for  gold  : 

Yet  here  to-night  in  this  dark  city, 
When  ill  and  weary,  alone  and  cold, 

I  found,  tho'  crush'd  to  hard  and  dry, 
This  nurseling  of  another  sky 

Still  in  the  little  book  you  lent  me, 
And  where  you  tenderly  laid  it  by  : 

And  I  forgot  the  clouded  Forth, 

The  gloom  that  saddens  Heaven  and  Earth, 

The  bitter  east,  the  misty  summer, 
And  gray  metropolis  of  the  North. 

Perchance,  to  lull  the  throbs  of  pain, 
Perchance,  to  charm  a  vacant  brain, 

Perchance,  to  dream  you  still  beside  me, 
My  fancy  fled  to  the  South  again. 

ALFRED,    LORD   TENNYSON. 


COLONEL  MANNERING  IN  EDINBURGH 

MANNERING,  with  Sampson  for  his  companion,  lost 
no  time  in  his  journey  to  Edinburgh.  They  travelled 
in  the  Colonel's  post-chariot,  who,  knowing  his  com- 
panion's habits  of  abstraction,  did  not  choose  to  lose 
him  out  of  his  own  sight,  far  less  to  trust  him  on  horse- 
back, where,  in  all  probability,  a  knavish  stable-boy 
might  with  little  address  have  contrived  to  mount 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  91 

him  with  his  face  to  the  tail.  Accordingly,  with  the 
aid  of  his  valet,  who  attended  on  horseback,  he  con- 
trived to  bring  Mr.  Sampson  safe  to  an  inn  in  Edin- 
burgh,— for  hotels  in  those  days  there  were  none, — 
without  any  other  accident  than  arose  from  his  stray- 
ing twice  upon  the  road.  ...  As  soon  as  they  ar- 
rived in  Edinburgh,  and  were  established  at  the 
George  Inn,  near  Bristo-Port,  then  kept  by  old  Cock- 
burn  (I  love  to  be  particular),  the  Colonel  desired  the 
waiter  to  procure  him  a  guide  to  Mr.  Pleydell's,  the 
advocate,  for  whom  he  had  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  Mr.  Mac-Morlan.  He  then  commanded  Barnes 
to  have  an  eye  to  the  Dominie,  and  walked  forth  with 
a  chairman,  who  was  to  usher  him  to  the  man  of 
law. 

The  period  was  near  the  end  of  the  American  War. 
The  desire  of  room,  of  air,  and  of  decent  accommoda- 
tion had  not  as  yet  made  very  much  progress  in  the 
capital  of  Scotland.  Some  efforts  had  been  made  on 
the  south  side  of  the  town  towards  building  houses 
within  themselves,  as  they  are  emphatically  termed  ; 
and  the  New  Town  on  the  north,  since  so  much  ex- 
tended, was  then  just  commenced.  But  the  great 
bulk  of  the  better  classes,  and  particularly  those 
connected  with  the  law,  still  lived  in  flats  or  dungeons 
of  the  Old  Town.  The  manners  also  of  some  of  the 
veterans  of  the  law  had  not  admitted  innovation. 
One  or  two  eminent  lawyers  still  saw  their  clients  in 
taverns,  as  was  the  general  custom  fifty  years  before  ; 
and  although  then:  habits  were  already  considered 
as  old-fashioned  by  the  younger  barristers,  yet  the 
custom  of  mixing  wine  and  revelry  with  serious 
business  was  still  maintained  by  these  senior  coun- 
sellors, who  loved  the  old  road,  either  because  it  was 


92  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

such,  or  because  they  had  got  too  well  used  to  it  to 
travel  any  other.  Among  those  praisers  of  the  past 
time,  who  with  ostentatious  obstinacy  affected  the 
manners  of  a  former  generation,  was  this  same  Paulus 
Pleydell,  Esq.,  otherwise  a  good  scholar,  an  excellent 
lawyer,  and  a  worthy  man. 

Under  the  guidance  of  his  trusty  attendant,  Colonel 
Mannering,  after  threading  a  dark  lane  or  two,  reached 
the  High  Street,  then  clanging  with  the  voices  of  the 
oyster-women  and  the  bells  of  pie-men,  for  it  had,  as 
his  guide  assured  him,  just  '  chappit  eight  upon  the 
Tron.'  It  was  long  since  Mannering  had  been  in  the 
street  of  a  crowded  metropolis,  which,  with  its  noise 
and  clamour,  its  sounds  of  trade,  of  revelry  and  of 
license,  its  variety  of  lights,  and  the  eternally  changing 
bustle  of  its  hundred  groups,  offers,  by  night  especi- 
ally, a  spectacle  which,  though  composed  of  the  most 
vulgar  materials  when  they  are  separately  considered, 
has,  when  they  are  combined,  a  striking  and  powerful 
effect  on  the  imagination.  The  extraordinary  height 
of  the  houses  was  marked  by  lights,  which,  glimmering 
irregularly  along  their  front,  ascended  so  high  among 
the  attics  that  they  seemed  at  length  to  twinkle  in 
the  middle  sky.  This  coup  d'ceil,  which  still  subsists 
in  a  certain  degree,  was  then  more  imposing,  owing 
to  the  uninterrupted  range  of  buildings  on  each  side, 
which,  broken  only  at  the  space  where  the  North 
Bridge  joins  the  main  street,  formed  a  superb  and  uni- 
form Place,  extending  from  the  front  of  the  Lucken- 
booths  to  the  head  of  the  Canongate,  and  correspond- 
ing in  breadth  and  length  to  the  uncommon  height 
of  the  buildings  on  either  side. 

SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  93 

AULD  REIKIE 

'  Auld  Reeky,  a  name  the  country  people  give  Edinburgh, 
from  the  cloud  of  smoke  or  reek  that  seems  always  impending 
over  her.' — ALLAN  RAMSAY. 

AULD  REIKIE,  wale  o'  ilka  town 
That  Scotland  kens  beneath  the  moon  ! 
Whare  couthy  chiels  at  e'ening  meet 
Their  bizzing  craigs  and  mous  to  weet ; 
And  blythly  gar  auld  care  gae  by 
Wi'  blinkit  and  wi'  bleering  eye  : 
O'er  lang  frae  thee  the  Muse  has  been 
Sae  frisky  on  the  simmer's  green, 
Whan  flowers  and  gowans  wont  to  glent 
In  bonny  blinks  upo'  the  bent ; 
But  now  the  leaves  o'  yellow  dye, 
Peel'd  frae  the  branches,  quickly  fly  ; 
And  now  frae  nouther  bush  nor  brier 
The  spreckl'd  mavis  greets  your  ear  ; 
Nor  bonny  blackbird  skims  and  roves 
To  seek  his  love  in  yonder  groves. 

Then  Reikie,  welcome  !     Thou  canst  charm 
Unfleggit  by  the  year's  alarm  ; 
Not  Boreas,  that  sae  snelly  blows, 
Dare  here  pap  in  his  angry  nose  : 
Thanks  to  our  dads,  whase  biggin  stands 
A  shelter  to  surrounding  lands. 

Now  morn,  wi'  bonny  purple  smiles, 
Kisses  the  air-cock  o'  St.  Giles  ; 
Rakin'  their  ein,  the  servant  lasses 
Early  begin  their  lies  and  clashes  ; 
Ilk  tells  her  friend  o'  saddest  distress 
That  still  she  broods  frae  scawling  mistress.  .  .  . 

On  stair  wi'  tub,  or  pat  in  hand, 
The  barefoot  housemaids  loe  to  stand, 


94  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

That  antrin  fock  may  ken  how  snell 
Auld  Reikie  will  at  morning  smell : 
Then,  with  an  inundation  big  as 
The  burn  that  'neath  the  Nor'  Lochbrig  is, 
They  kindly  shower  Edina's  roses, 
To  quicken  and  regale  our  noses. 
Now  some  for  this,  wi'  satire's  leesh, 
Hae  gi'en  auld  Edinbrough  a  creesh  : 
But  without  souring  nocht  is  sweet ; 
The  morning  smells  that  hail  our  streets, 
Prepare  and  gently  lead  the  way 
To  simmer  canty,  braw  and  gay  : 
Edina's  sons  mair  eithly  share 
Her  spices  and  her  dainties  rare, 
Than  he  that's  never  yet  been  call'd 
Aff  frae  his  pladdie  or  his  fauld. 

Now  stair -head  critics,  senseless  fools, 
Censure  their  aim,  and  pride  their  rules, 
In  Luckenbooths  wi'  glouring  eye, 
Their  neighbour's  sma'est  fauts  descry  : 
If  ony  loun  shou'd  dander  there, 
,O'  aukward  gate,  and  foreign  air  : 
They  trace  his  steps,  till  they  can  tell 
His  pedigree  as  weel's  himsell. 

Whan  Phoebus  blinks  wi'  warmer  ray, 
And  schools  at  noon -day  get  the  play, 
Then,  bus'ness,  weighty  bus'ness,  comes, 
The  trader  glours  ;  he  doubts,  he  hums  : 
The  lawyers  eke  to  Cross  repair, 
Their  wings  to  shaw,  and  toss  an  air  : 
While  busy  agent  closely  plies, 
And  a'  his  kittle  cases  tries. 

Now  night,  that's  cunzied  chief  for  fun, 
Is  wi'  her  usual  rites  begun  ; 
Thro'  ilka  gate  the  torches  blaze, 


EDINBURGH  TOWN 

And  globes  send  out  their  blinkin'  rays. 
The  usefu'  cadie  plies  the  street, 
To  bide  the  profits  o'  his  feet  ; 
For  by  their  lads  Auld  Reikie's  fock 
Ken  but  a  sample  o'  the  stock 
O'  thieves,  that  nightly  wad  oppress, 
And  mak  baith  goods  and  gear  the  less. 
Near  him  the  lazy  chairman  stands, 
And  wats  na  how  to  turn  his  hands  ; 
Till  some  daft  birky,  ranting  fu', 
Has  matters  somewhare  else  to  do  ; 
The  chairman  willing  gi'es  his  light 
To  deeds  o'  darkness  and  o'  night.  .  .  . 

If  kail  sae  green,  or  herbs,  delight, 
Edina's  street  attracts  the  sight ; 
Not  Co  vent -garden,  clad  sae  braw, 
Mair  fouth  o'  herbs  can  eithly  shaw  : 
For  mony  a  yard  is  here  sair  sought, 
That  kail  and  cabbage  may  be  bought, 
And  hcalthfu'  salad  to  regale, 
Whan  pamper'd  wi'  a  heavy  meal. 
Glowr  up  the  street  at  simmer  morn, 
The  birk  sae  green,  and  sweet-brier  thorn, 
Wi'  spraingit  flow'rs  that  scent  the  gale, 
Ca'  far  awa  the  morning  smell, 
Wi'  which  our  ladies'  flow'r-pats  fill'd, 
And  every  noxious  vapour  kill'd. 
O  Nature  !  canty,  blythe  and  free, 
Whare  is  there  kneeing-glass  like  thee  ? 
Is  there  on  earth  that  can  compare 
Wi'  Mary's  shape  and  Mary's  air, 
Save  the  empurpl'd  speck  that  grows 
In  the  saft  faulds  o'  yonder  rose  ? 
How  bonny  seems  the  virgin  breast, 
Whan  by  the  lilies  here  carest, 


96  THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

And  leaves  the  mind  in  doubt  to  tell 
Which  maist  in  sweets  and  hue  excel  ?  . 

On  Sunday  here,  an  alter'd  scene 
O'  men  and  manners  meets  our  ein  ; 
Ane  wad  maist  trow  some  people  chose 
To  change  their  faces  wi'  their  clo'es, 
And  fain  wad  gar  ilk  neighbour  think 
They  thirst  for  goodness  as  for  drink  ; 
But  there's  an  unco  dearth  o'  grace, 
That  has  nae  mansion  but  the  face  ; 
And  never  can  obtain  a  part 
In  benmost  corner  o'  the  heart. 
Why  shou'd  religion  mak  us  sad, 
If  good  frae  Virtue's  to  be  had  ? 
Na,  rather  gleefu'  turn  your  face  ; 
Forsake  hypocrisy,  grimace  ; 
And  never  hae  it  understood 
You  fleg  mankind  frae  being  good. 

In  afternoon,  a'  brawly  buskit, 
The  joes  and  lasses  loe  to  frisk  it ; 
Some  tak  a  great  delight  to  place 
The  modest  bon-grace  o'er  the  face  ; 
Tho'  you  may  see,  if  so  inclin'd, 
The  turning  o'  the  leg  behind. 
Now  Comely-garden,  and  the  Park, 
Refresh  them,  after  forenoon's  wark  ; 
Newhaven,  Leith,  or  Canon-mills, 
Supply  them  in  their  Sunday's  gills  ; 
Whare  writers  aften  spend  their  pence, 
To  stock  their  heads  wi'  drink  an'  sense. 

While  dand'ring  its  delight  to  stray 
To  Castle  Hill,  or  public  way, 
Whare  they  nae  other  purpose  mean, 
Than  that  foul  cause  o'  being  seen  ; 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  97 

Let  me  to  Arthur's  Seat  pursue, 
Whare  bonny  pastures  meet  the  view  ; 
And  mony  a  wild-lorn  scene  accrues, 
Befitting  Willie  Shakespeare's  muse  : 
If  Fancy  there  would  join  the  thrang, 
The  desert  rocks  and  hills  amang, 
To  echoes  we  should  lilt  and  play, 
And  gie  to  Mirth  the  live-lang  day. 

Or  shou'd  some  canker'd  biting  show'r 
The  day  and  a'  her  sweets  deflow'r, 
To  Holyrood-house  let  me  stray, 
And  gie  to  musing  a'  the  day  ; 
Lamenting  what  auld  Scotland  knew 
Bien  days  for  ever  frae  her  view  : 
O  Hamilton,  for  shame  !  the  Muse 
Wad  pay  to  thee  her  couthy  vows 
Gin  ye  wad  tent  the  humble  strain, 
And  gie  's  our  dignity  again  : 
For  O,  waes  me  !  the  thistle  springs 
In  domicile  o'  ancient  kings, 
Without  a  patriot  to  regret 
Our  palace  and  our  ancient  state.  .  .  . 

Reikie,  farewell !     I  ne'er  cou'd  part 
Wi'  thee  but  wi'  a  dowy  heart ; 
Aft  frae  the  Fifan  coast  I've  seen 
Thee  towering  on  thy  summit  green, 
So  glowr  the  saints  when  first  is  given 
A  fav'rite  keek  o'  glore  and  heaven  ; 
On  earth  nae  mair  they  bend  their  ein, 
But  quick  assume  angelic  mien  ; 
So  I  on  Fife  wad  glowr  no  more, 
But  gallop'd  to  Edina's  shore. 

ROBERT  FERGUSSON. 


THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 


THE  WATER  POET  IS  ENTERTAINED  IN 
EDINBURGH 

THE  moon  [being]  four  days  old,  the  wind  at  west,  I 
came  to  take  rest,  at  the  wished,  long  expected, 
ancient  famous  city  of  Edinburgh,  which  I  entered 
like  Pierce  Penniless,  altogether  moneyless,  but  I 
thank  God,  not  friendless  ;  for  being  there,  for  the 
time  of  my  stay,  I  might  borrow,  (if  any  man  would 
lend)  spend  if  I  could  get,  beg  if  I  had  the  impudence, 
and  steal  if  I  durst  adventure  the  price  of  a  hanging, 
but  my  purpose  was  to  house  my  horse,  and  to  suffer 
him  and  my  apparel  to  lie  in  durance,  or  lavender 
instead  of  litter,  till  such  time  as  I  could  meet  with 
some  valiant  friend,  that  would  desperately  disburse. 
Walking  thus  down  the  street,  (my  body  being  tired 
with  travel,  and  my  mind  attired  with  moody,  muddy 
Moor-ditch  melancholy)  my  contemplation  did  de- 
votely  pray,  that  I  might  meet  one  or  other  to  prey 
upon,  being  willing  to  take  any  slender  acquaintance 
of  any  map  whatsoever,  viewing,  and  circumviewing 
every  man's  face  I  met,  as  if  I  meant  to  draw  his 
picture.  ...  At  last  I  resolved,  that  the  next  gentle- 
man that  I  met  withal,  should  be  acquaintance 
whether  he  would  or  no  :  and  presently  fixing  mine 
eyes  upon  a  gentleman -like  object,  I  looked  on  him, 
as  if  I  would  survey  something  through  him,  and  make 
him  my  perspective  :  and  he  much  musing  at  my 
gazing,  and  I  much  gazing  at  his  musing,  at  last  he 
crossed  the  way  and  made  toward  me,  and  then  I  made 
down  the  street  from  him,  leaving  him  to  encounter 
my  man,  who  came  after  me  leading  my  horse  whom 
he  thus  accosted.  My  friend  (quoth  he),  doth  yonder 
gentleman,  (meaning  me)  know  me,  that  he  looks  so 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  99 

wistly  on  me  ?  Truly,  sir,  said  my  man,  I  think 
not,  but  my  master  is  a  stranger  come  from  London, 
and  would  gladly  meet  some  acquaintance  to  direct 
him  where  he  may  have  lodging  and  horse-meat. 
Presently  the  gentleman,  (being  of  a  generous  disposi- 
tion) overtook  me  with  unexpected  and  undeserved 
courtesy,  brought  me  to  a  lodging,  and  caused  my 
horse  to  be  put  into  his  own  stable  whilst  we  dis- 
coursing over  a  pint  of  Spanish,  I  relate  as  much 
English  to  him,  as  made  him  lend  me  ten  shillings, 
(his  name  was  Master  John  Maxwell)  which  money  I 
am  sure  was  the  first  that  I  handled  after  I  came 
from  out  the  walls  of  London  :  but  having  rested  two 
hours  and  refreshed  myself,  the  gentleman  and  I 
walked  to  see  the  City  and  the  Castle,  which  as  my 
poor  unable  and  unworthy  pen  can,  I  will  truly  de- 
scribe. 

The  Castle  on  a  lofty  rock  is  so  strongly  grounded, 
bounded,  and  founded,  that  by  force  of  man  it  can 
never  be  confounded  ;  the  foundation  and  walls  are 
impenetrable,  the  rampiers  impregnable,  the  bulwarks 
invincible,  no  way  but  one  it  is  possible  or  can  be 
possible  to  be  made  passable.  In  a  word,  I  have 
seen  many  straits  and  fortresses  in  Germany,  the 
Netherlands,  Spain  and  England,  but  they  must  all 
give  place  to  this  unconquered  Castle,  both  for 
strength  and  situation. 

Amongst  the  many  memorable  things  which  I  was 
shewed  there,  I  noted  especially  a  great  piece  of 
ordnance  of  iron  ;  it  is  not  for  battery,  but  it  will  serve 
to  defend  a  breach,  or  to  toss  balls  of  wild-fire  against 
any  that  should  assail  or  assault  the  Castle  ;  it  [Mons 
Meg]  lies  now  dismounted.  .  .  . 

So  leaving  the  Castle,  as  it  is  both  defensive  against 

7—2 


ioo          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

my  opposition,  and  magnific  for  lodging  and  receite, 
I  descended  lower  to  the  City,  wherein  I  observed  the 
fairest  and  goodliest  street  that  ever  mine  eyes  beheld, 
for  I  did  never  see  or  hear  of  a  street  of  that  length, 
(which  is  half  an  English  mile  from  the  Castle  to  a 
fair  part  which  they  call  the  Nether-Bow]  and  from 
that  part,  the  street  which  they  call  the  Kenny-gate 
is  one  quarter  of  a  mile  more,  down  to  the  King's 
Palace,  called  Holy -rood-House,  the  buildings  on  each 
side  of  the  way  being  all  of  squared  stone,  five,  six, 
and  seven  stories  high,  and  many  bye-lanes  and  closes 
one  each  side  of  the  way,  wherein  are  gentlemen's 
houses,  much  fairer  than  the  buildings  in  the  High 
Street,  for  in  the  High  Street  the  merchants  and 
tradesmen  do  dwell,  but  the  gentlemen's  mansions 
and  goodliest  houses  are  obscurely  founded  in  the 
aforesaid  lanes  :  the  walls  are  eight  to  ten  foot  thick, 
exceeding  strong,  not  built  for  a  day,  a  week,  or  a 
month,  or  a  year  ;  but  from  antiquity  to  posterity, 
for  many  ages  ;  there  I  found  entertainment  beyond 
my  expectation  or  merit,  and  there  is  fish,  flesh, 
bread,  and  fruit,  in  such  variety,  that  I  think  I  may 
offenceless  call  it  superfluity,  or  satiety.  The  worst 
was,  that  wine  and  ale  was  so  scarce,  and  the  people 
there  such  misers  of  it,  that  every  night  before  I  went 
to  bed,  if  any  man  had  asked  me  a  civil  question,  all 
the  wit  in  my  head  could  not  have  made  him  a  sober 
answer.  .  .  . 

But  once  more,  a  word  or  two  of  Edinburgh, 
although  I  have  scarcely  given  it  that  due  which 
belongs  unto  it,  for  their  lofty  and  stately  buildings, 
and  for  their  fair  and  spacious  streets,  yet  my  mind 
persuades  me  that  they  in  former  ages  that  first 
founded  that  city  did  not  so  well  in  that  they  built  it 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  101 

in  so  discommodious  a  place  ;  for  the  sea,  and  all 
navigable  rivers  being  the  chief  means  for  the  enrich- 
ing of  towns  and  cities,  by  the  reason  of  traffic  with 
foreign  nations,  with  exportation,  transportation,  and 
receite  of  variety  of  merchandizing  ;  so  this  city,  had 
it  been  built  but  one  mile  lower  on  the  seaside,  I  doubt 
not  but  it  had  long  before  this  been  comparable  to 
many  a  one  of  our  greatest  towns  and  cities  in  Europe, 
both  for  spaciousness  of  bounds,  port,  state,  and 
riches. 

JOHN   TAYLOR. 


TO  THE  MERCHANTS  OF  EDINBURGH 

AN   ADDRESS 

QUHY  will  ye,  Merchantis  of  renoun, 
Lat  Edinburgh,  your  nobill  toun 
For  laik  of  reformatioun 
The  commone  proffeitt  tyne  and  fame  ? 

Think  ye  nocht  schame, 
That  ony  uther  regioun 
Sail  with  dishonour  hurt  your  Name  !  . 

At  your  hie  Croce,  quhair  gold  and  silk 
Sould  be,  thair  is  bot  curdis  and  milk  ; 
And  at  your  Trone  but  cokill  and  wilk, 
Pausches,  pudingis  of  Jok  and  Jame  : 

Think  ye  nocht  schame, 
Sen  as  the  world  sayis  that  ilk 
In  hurt  and  sclander  of  your  Name  ! 

Your  commone  Menstrallis  hes  no  tone, 
But  Now  the  day  dawis,  and  Into  Joun  ; 
Cuningar  men  scherve  Sanct  Clown, 


102 


And  nevir  to  uther  craftis  clame  : 

Think  ye  nocht  schame, 
To  hald  sic  mowaris  on  the  moune, 
In  hurt  and  sclander  of  your  Name  ! 

Tail  youris,  Soutteris,  and  craftis  vyll, 
The  fairest  of  your  streitis  dois  fyll ; 
And  merchandis  at  the  stinkand  Styll 
AT  hamperit  in  ane  honey  came  : 

Think  ye  nocht  schame, 
That  ye  have  nether  witt  nor  wyll 
To  win  your  selff  ane  bettir  Name  ! 

Your  Burgh  of  beggaris  is  ane  nest, 

To  schout  and  swen  youris  will  nocht  rest ; 

All  honest  folk  they  do  molest, 

Sa  piteuflie  thai  cry  and  rame  : 

Think  ye  nocht  schame, 
That  for  the  poore  hes  no  thing  drest, 
In  hurt  and  sclander  of  your  Name  ! 

Your  proffeit  daylie  dois  incress 
Your  godlie  workis  less  and  less  ; 
Through  streittis  nane  may  mak  progress, 
For  cry  of  cruikit,  blind,  and  lame  ; 

Think  ye  nocht  schame, 
That  ye  sic  substance  dois  possess, 
And  will  nocht  win  ane  bettir  Name  ! 

Sen  for  the  Court  and  the  Sessioun, 
The  great  repair  of  this  regioun 
Is  in  your  Burgh,  thairfoir  be  boun 
To  mend  all  faultis  that  ar  to  blame, 

And  eschew  schame  ; 
Gif  thai  pas  to  ane  uther  Toun 
Ye  will  decay,  and  your  great  Name  ! 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  103 

Thairfoir  strangeris  and  leigis  treit, 
Tak  nocht  ouer  meikle  for  thair  meit, 
And  gar  your  Merchandis  be  discriet, 
That  na  extortiounnes  be  proclaime, 

Awfrand  ane  schame  : 
Keip  ordour,  and  poore  nychtbouris  belt, 
That  ye  may  gett  ane  bettir  Name  ! 

Singular  proffeit  so  dois  yow  blind, 
The  common  proffeit  gois  behind  : 
I  pray  that  Lord  remeid  to  fynd 
That  deit  into  Jerusalem  ; 

And  gar  you  schame  ! 
That  sum  tyme  ressoun  may  yow  bind, 
For  to  reconqueis  yow  guid  Name  ! 

WILLIAM   DUNBAR. 


'  THIS,  then,  is  Edinburgh  ?'  said  the  youth,  as  the 
fellow-travellers  arrived  at  one  of  the  heights  to  the 
southward,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  great 
northern  capital — 'this  is  that  Edinburgh  of  which 
we  have  heard  so  much  ?' 

'  Even  so,'  said  the  falconer  ;  '  yonder  stands  Auld 
Reekie — you  may  see  the  smoke  hover  over  her  at 
twenty  miles'  distance,  as  the  goss-hawk  hangs  over  a 
plump  of  young  wild-ducks — ay,  yonder  is  the  heart 
of  Scotland,  and  each  throb  that  she  gives  is  felt  from 
the  edge  of  Solway  to  Duncan's-bay  head.  See, 
yonder  is  the  old  Castle  ;  and  see  to  the  right,  on  yon 
rising  ground,  that  is  the  Castle  of  Craigmillar,  which 
I  have  known  a  merry  place  in  my  time.' 

'  Was  it  not  there,'  said  the  page  in  a  low  voice, 
'  that  the  Queen  held  her  court  ?' 


104          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

'  Ay,  ay,'  replied  the  falconer,  '  Queen  she  was  then, 
though  you  must  not  call  her  so  now. — Well,  they  may 
say  what  they  will — many  a  true  heart  will  be  sad  for 
Mary  Stewart,  e'en  if  all  be  true  men  say  of  her  ;  for 
look  you,  Master  Roland — she  was  the  loveliest  crea- 
ture to  look  upon  that  I  ever  saw  with  eye,  and  no 
lady  in  the  land  liked  better  the  fair  flight  of  a  falcon. 
I  was  at  the  great  match  on  Roslin-moor  betwixt 
Bothwell — he  was  a  black  sight  to  her  that  Bothwell — 
and  the  Baron  of  Roslin,  who  could  judge  a  hawk's 
flight  as  well  as  any  man  in  Scotland — a  butt  of 
Rhenish  and  a  ring  of  gold  was  the  wager,  and  it  was 
flown  as  fairly  for  as  ever  was  red  gold  and  bright 
wine.  And  to  see  her  there  on  her  white  palfrey, 
that  flew  as  if  it  scorned  to  touch  more  than  the 
heather  blossom  ;  and  to  hear  her  voice,  as  clear  and 
sweet  as  the  mavis's  whistle,  mix  among  our  jolly 
whooping  and  whistling ;  and  to  mark  all  the  nobles 
dashing  round  her — happiest  he  who  got  a  word  or  a 
look — tearing  through  moss  and  hag,  and  venturing 
neck  and  limb  to  gain  the  praise  of  a  bold  rider,  and 
the  blink  of  a  bonny  Queen's  bright  eye  ! — she  will 
see  little  hawking  where  she  lies  now — ay,  ay,  pomp 
and  pleasure  pass  away  as  speedily  as  the  wap  of  a 
falcon's  wing.'  .  .  . 

The  principal  street  of  Edinburgh  was  then,  as  now, 
one  of  the  most  spacious  in  Europe.  The  extreme 
height  of  the  houses,  and  the  variety  of  Gothic  gables, 
and  battlements,  and  balconies,  by  which  the  sky-line 
on  each  side  was  crowded  and  terminated,  together 
with  the  width  of  the  street  itself,  might  have  struck 
with  surprise  a  more  practised  eye  than  that  of 
young  Graeme.  The  population,  close  packed  within 
the  walls  of  the  city,  and  at  this  time  increased  by  the 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  105 

number  of  the  lords  of  the  King's  party  who  had 
thronged  to  Edinburgh  to  wait  upon  the  Regent 
Murray,  absolutely  swarmed  like  bees  on  the  wide 
and  stately  street.  Instead  of  the  shop-windows, 
which  are  now  calculated  for  the  display  of  goods, 
the  traders  had  their  open  booths  projecting  on  the 
street,  in  which,  as  in  the  fashion  of  the  modern 
bazaars,  all  was  exposed  which  they  had  upon  sale. 
And  though  the  commodities  were  not  of  the  richest 
kinds,  yet  Graeme  thought  he  beheld  the  wealth  of  the 
whole  world  in  the  various  bales  of  Flanders  cloths, 
and  the  specimens  of  tapestry  ;  and,  at  other  places, 
the  display  of  domestic  utensils,  and  pieces  of  plate, 
struck  him  with  wonder.  The  sight  of  cutlers' 
booths,  furnished  with  swords  and  poniards,  which 
were  manufactured  in  Scotland,  and  with  pieces  of 
defensive  armour,  imported  from  Flanders,  added  to 
his  surprise  ;  and,  at  every  step,  he  found  so  much 
to  admire  and  to  gaze  upon,  that  Adam  Woodcock 
had  no  little  difficulty  in  prevailing  on  him  to  advance 
through  such  a  scene  of  enchantment. 

The  sight  of  the  crowds  which  filled  the  streets  was 
equally  a  subject  of  wonder.  Here  a  gay  lady,  in  her 
muffler,  or  silken  veil,  traced  her  way  delicately,  a 
gentleman-usher  making  way  for  her,  a  page  bearing 
up  her  train,  and  a  waiting  gentlewoman  carrying  her 
Bible,  thus  intimating  that  her  purpose  was  towards 
the  church.  There  he  might  see  a  group  of  citizens 
bending  the  same  way,  with  their  short  Flemish 
cloaks,  wide  trowsers,  and  high-caped  doublets  ;  a 
fashion  to  which,  as  well  as  to  their  bonnet  and  feather, 
the  Scots  were  long  faithful.  Then,  again,  came  the 
clergyman  himself,  in  his  black  Geneva  cloak  and 
band,  bending  a  grave  and  attentive  ear  to  the  dis- 


106          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

course  of  several  persons  who  accompanied  him,  and 
who  were  doubtless  holding  serious  converse  on  the  re- 
ligious subject  he  was  about  to  treat  of.  Nor  did  there 
lack  passengers  of  a  different  class  and  appearance. 

At  every  turn,  Roland  Graeme  might  see  a  gallant 
ruffle  along  in  the  newer  or  French  mode,  his  doublet 
slashed,  and  his  points  of  the  same  colours  with  the 
lining,  his  long  sword  on  one  side,  and  his  poniard  on 
the  other,  behind  him  a  body  of  stout  serving-men 
proportioned  to  his  estate  and  quality,  all  of  whom 
walked  with  an  air  of  military  retainers,  and  were 
armed  with  sword  and  buckler,  the  latter  being  a 
small  round  shield,  not  unlike  the  Highland  target, 
having  a  steel  spike  in  the  centre.  Two  of  these 
parties,  each  headed  by  a  person  of  importance, 
chanced  to  meet  in  the  very  centre  of  the  street,  or,  as 
it  was  called,  '  the  crown  of  the  causeway,'  a  post  of 
honour  as  tenaciously  asserted  in  Scotland,  as  that 
of  giving  or  taking  the  wall  used  to  be  in  the  more 
southern  part  of  the  island.  The  two  leaders  being 
of  equal  rank,  and,  most  probably,  either  animated 
by  political  dislike,  or  by  recollection  of  some  feudal 
enmity,  marched  close  up  to  each  other,  without 
yielding  an  inch  to  the  right  or  the  left  ;  and  neither 
showing  the  least  purpose  of  giving  way,  they  stopped 
for  an  instant,  and  then  drew  their  swords.  Their 
followers  imitated  their  example  ;  about  a  score  of 
weapons  at  once  flashed  in  the  sun,  and  there  was  an 
immediate  clatter  of  swords  and  bucklers,  while  the 
followers  on  either  side  cried  their  master's  name  ;  the 
one  shouting  '  Help  !  a  Leslie !'  while  the  others 
answered  with  shouts  of  '  Seyton  !  Seyton  !'  with  the 
additional  punning  slogan,  '  Set  on,  set  on — bear  the 
knaves  to  the  ground  !' 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  107 

If  the  falconer  found  difficulty  in  getting  the  page 
to  go  forward  before,  it  was  now  perfectly  impossible. 
He  reined  up  his  horse,  clapped  his  hands,  and,  de- 
lighted with  the  fray,  cried  and  shouted  as  fast  as  any 
of  those  who  were  actually  engaged  in  it. 

The  noise  and  cries  thus  arising  on  the  High-gate, 
as  it  was  called,  drew  into  the  quarrel  two  or  three 
other  parties  of  gentlemen  and  their  servants,  besides 
some  single  passengers,  who,  hearing  a  fray  betwixt 
these  two  distinguished  names,  took  part  in  it,  either 
for  love  or  hatred. 

SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


EDINBURGH  :  A  SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY 
VIGNETTE 

EDENBOROW  is  the  seat  of  the  King  of  Scotland,  and 
the  Courts  of  Justice  are  held  in  the  same.  Of  old, 
according  to  the  changeable  fortune  of  warre,  it  was 
sometimes  in  the  possession  of  the  Scots,  sometimes 
of  the  English  inhabiting  this  Easterne  part  of  Scot- 
land, till  the  English  Kingdome  being  shaken  with 
invasions  of  the  Danes,  at  last  about  the  yeere  960, 
it  became  wholly  in  the  power  of  the  Scots.  This 
City  is  high  seated,  in  a  fruitfull  soyle  and  wholesome 
aire,  and  is  adorned  with  many  Noblemens'  Towers 
lying  about  it,  and  aboundeth  with  many  springs  of 
sweet  waters.  At  the  end  towards  the  East,  is  the 
King's  Pallace  joyning  to  the  Monastery  of  the  Holy 
Crosse,  which  King  David  the  First  built,  over  which, 
in  a  Parke  of  Hares,  Conies,  and  Deare,  an  high  moun- 
taine  hangs,  called  the  chaire  of  Arthur  (of  Arthur  the 
Prince  of  the  Britanes,  whose  monuments,  famous 
among  all  Ballad-makers,  are  for  the  most  part  to  be 


io8          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

found  on  these  borders  of  England  and  Scotland). 
From  the  King's  Pallace  at  the  East,  the  City  still 
riseth  higher  and  higher  towards  the  West,  and  con- 
sists especially  of  one  broad  and  very  faire  street 
(which  is  the  greatest  part  and  sole  ornament  thereof). 
.  .  .  This  length  from  the  East  to  the  West  is  about 
a  mile,  whereas  the  bredth  of  the  City  from  the  North 
to  the  South  is  narrow,  and  cannot  be  halfe  a  mile. 
At  the  furthest  end  towards  the  West,  is  a  very  strong 
Castle,  which  the  Scots  hold  unexpugnable.  Cam- 
den  saith  this  Castle  was  of  old  called  by  ...  the 
Scots  '  The  Castle  of  the  Maids  '  (of  certaine  Virgines 
kept  there  by  the  King  of  the  Picts),  and  by  Ptolemy 
'  The  Winged  Castle.'  And  from  this  Castle  towards 
the  West,  is  a  most  steepe  Rocke  pointed  on  the 
highest  top,  out  of  which  this  Castle  is  cut.  But  on 
the  North  and  South  sides  without  the  wals,  lie  plaine 
and  fruitful  fields  of  corne.  In  the  midst  of  the  fore- 
said  faire  streete,  the  Cathedrall  Church  is  built,  which 
is  large  and  lightsome,  but  little  stately  for  the  build- 
ing, and  nothing  at  all  for  the  beauty  and  ornament. 
In  this  Church  the  King's  seate  is  built  some  few 
staires  high  of  wood,  and  leaning  upon  the  pillar  next 
to  the  pulpit.  And  opposite  to  the  same  is  another 
seate  very  like  it,  in  which  the  incontinent  use  to 
stand  and  doe  pennance  ;  and  some  few  weekes  past,  a 
'gentleman,  being  a  stranger,  and  taking  it  for  a  place 
wherein  men  of  better  quality  used  to  sit,  boldly 
entered  the  same  in  sermon  time,  till  he  was  driven 
away  with  the  profuse  laughter  of  the  common  sort, 
to  the  disturbance  of  the  whole  congregation.  The 
houses  are  built  of  unpolished  stone,  and  in  the  faire 
streete  good  part  of  them  is  of  free  stone,  which  in  that 
broade  streete  would  make  a  faire  shew,  but  that  the 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  109 

outsides  of  them  are  faced  with  wooden  galleries, 
built  upon  the  second  story  of  the  houses  ;  yet  these 
galleries  give  the  owners  a  faire  and  pleasant  prospect, 
into  the  said  faire  and  broad  streete,  when  they  sit 
or  stand  in  the  same. 

FYNES  MORYSON. 
EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY  EDINBURGH 

THE  City  is  built  between  two  steep  hills,  and  the 
Castle  on  another,  so  that  it  may  not  improperly  be 
compar'd  to  a  spread  Eagle.  The  hill  whereon  the 
Castle  is  built  being  the  head,  and  the  two  barren 
mountains  on  each  side  of  it  the  wings.  I  have  the 
more  reason  to  make  this  comparison,  because  Adam 
in  the  British  signifys  wing'd,  so  that  Edenborough 
being  a  Compound  of  British  and  Saxon,  implyes  a 
wing'd  Borough.  .  .  .  When  I  first  came  in  sight  of 
Edenborough,  I  thought  the  loftiness  of  the  houses 
and  the  prospect  of  the  Castle  made  a  fine  show,  but 
I  was  soon  of  the  same  opinion  with  the  English 
Captain,  who  having  been  well  entertain'd  by  the 
Scotch,  was  ask'd  how  he  lik'd  the  Country,  he 
answered  not  at  all,  upon  which  enquiring  into  the 
reason,  he  told  them,  he  thought  they  had  not  so 
much  Religion  as  other  Nations.  At  that  they  were 
amazed,  knowing  their  religion  even  carry'd  them  to 
Superstition,  so  they  requir'd  why  he  thought  soe, 
because  sayes  the  English  Captain,  you  have  but 
8  commandments,  they  told  him  they  had  10,  as  well 
as  he,  No  says  the  Captain,  you  have  but  8,  for  you 
have  nothing  to  covet  and  nothing  to  steale.  .  .  . 
We  went  on  Sunday  to  the  Kirk.  .  .  .  The  Minister 
made  such  a  prodigious  noise  in  broad  Scotch,  and 
beat  his  Pulpit  so  violently,  that  he  seem'd  better 


no          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

qualified  for  a  Drummer  than  a  Parson.  The  women 
were  most  vail'd  with  plods,  which  gave  us  but  little 
opportunity  of  passing  our  Judgment  on  the  Scotch 
beautyes,  but  those  we  saw  were  very  indifferent. 
There  is  no  other  place  but  the  Church  to  take  a  view 
of  them  at,  for  in  Edenborough  the  Kirk  allows  of  no 
plays,  or  public  Entertainments,  neither  are  there  any 
walks  for  the  Ladyes ;  when  any  one  dyes,  the  Bellman 
gives  notice  to  all  faithfuU  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
a  day  or  two  after  acquaints  them  with  his  Funerall. 
It's  very  observable  that  a  poor  pedlar  .  .  .  wears 
his  Sword,  and  has  his  little  Box  resembling  a  Tapp 
fill'd  with  Mindungoe  in  his  pocket,  without  which 
he  can't  live,  and  if  he  has  but  a  few  Baubies,  or  half 
pennyes,  about  him,  he  struts  like  an  Emperour  ; 
they  talk  of  everything  in  the  Superlative  degree,  and 
gave  us  a  large  account  of  their  Royall  Navy,  which 
when  we  came  to  enquire  into  was  only  one  single 
Ship,  call'd  by  that  name,  commanded  by  Captain 
Gordon,  who  has  taken  severall  Ffrench  prizes  with 
her  :  The  Highlander's  dress  is  very  pretty,  he  wears 
a  Scotch  plodd  over  his  Shoulders,  like  a  Scarfe,  and 
a  great  Basket  hilted  Sword  by  his  side,  a  Pistoll 
tuck't  into  his  Belt,  a  Bonnet  with  a  Bunch  of  Ribbons 
on  his  head,  and  a  pair  of  pumps  on  his  feet,  with 
which  hee'l  travell  60  miles  a  day. 

JOSEPH   TAYLOR. 


THE  only  great  lounging  book-shop  in  the  New  Town 
of  Edinburgh  is  Mr.  Blackwood's.  .  .  .  This  shop  is 
situated  very  near  my  hotel,  so  Mr.  Wastle  carried 
me  into  it  almost  immediately  after  my  arrival  in 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  in 

Edinburgh  ;  indeed,  I  asked  him  to  do  so,  for  the  noise 
made  even  in  London  about  the  Chaldee  MS.,  and 
some  other  things  in  the  Magazine,  had  given  me  some 
curiosity  to  see  the  intrepid  publisher  of  these  things, 
and  the  possible  scene  of  their  concoction.  Wastle 
has  contributed  a  variety  of  poems,  chiefly  ludicrous, 
to  the  pages  of  the  New  Miscellany,  so  that  he  is  of 
course  a  mighty  favourite  with  the  proprietor,  and  I 
could  not  have  made  my  introduction  under  better 
auspices  than  his. 

The  length  of  vista  presented  to  me  on  entering  the 
shop  has  a  very  imposing  effect,  for  it  is  carried  back, 
room  after  room,  through  various  gradations  of  light 
and  shadow,  till  the  eye  cannot  distinctly  trace  the 
outline  of  any  object  in  the  farthest  distance.  First 
there  is,  as  usual,  a  spacious  place  set  apart  for  retail 
business,  and  a  numerous  detachment  of  young  clerks 
and  apprentices,  to  whose  management  that  impor- 
tant department  of  the  concern  is  entrusted.  Then 
you  have  an  elegant  oval  saloon,  lighted  from  the  roof, 
where  various  groups  of  loungers  and  literary  dilet- 
tanti are  engaged  in  looking  at,  or  criticising  amongst 
themselves,  the  publications  just  arrived  by  that  day's 
coach  from  London.  In  such  critical  colloquies  the 
voice  of  the  bookseller  himself  may  ever  and  anon  be 
heard  mingling  the  broad  and  unadulterated  notes 
of  its  Auld  Reekie  music  ;  for,  unless  occupied  in  the 
recesses  of  the  premises  with  some  other  business,  it 
is  here  he  has  his  usual  station.  He  is  a  nimble, 
active-looking  man,  of  middle  age,  and  moves  about 
from  one  corner  to  another  with  great  alacrity,  and 
apparently  under  the  influence  of  high  animal  spirits. 
His  complexion  is  very  sanguineous,  but  nothing  can 
be  more  intelligent,  keen,  and  sagacious  than  the  ex- 


H2          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

pression  of  the  whole  physiognomy  ;  above  all,  the 
grey  eyes  and  eyebrows,  as  full  of  locomotion  as 
those  of  Catalani.  The  remarks  he  makes  are,  in 
general,  extremely  acute — much  more  so,  indeed,  than 
those  of  any  other  member  of  the  trade  I  ever  heard 
upon  such  topics.  The  shrewdness  and  decision  of  the 
man  can,  however,  stand  in  need  of  no  testimony 
beyond  what  his  own  conduct  has  afforded — above 
all,  in  the  establishment  of  his  Magazine  (the  conception 
of  which,  I  am  assured,  was  entirely  his  own),  and 
the  subsequent  energy  with  which  he  has  supported 
it  through  every  variety  of  good  and  ill  fortune.  .  .  . 

Another  of  the  great  morning  lounges  has  its  seat 
in  a  shop,  the  character  of  which  would  not  at  first 
sight  lead  one  to  expect  any  such  thing — a  clothier's 
shop,  namely,  occupied  by  a  father  and  son,  both  of 
the  name  of  David  Bridges.  The  cause  and  centre 
of  the  attraction,  however,  is  entirely  lodged  in  the 
person  of  the  junior  member  of  the  firm,  an  active, 
intelligent,  and  warm-hearted  fellow,  who  has  a  pro- 
digious love  for  the  Fine  Arts,  and  lives  on  familiar 
terms  with  all  the  artists  of  Edinburgh.  Around  him, 
in  consequence  of  these  circumstances,  the  whole 
connoisseurs  and  connoisseurships  of  the  North  have 
by  degrees  become  clustered  and  concentrated,  like 
the  meeting  of  the  red  and  yellow  stripes  in  the  back 
of  a  tartan  jacket. 

This  shop  is  situated  in  the  High  Street,  not  above 
a  couple  of  yards  from  the  house  of  my  friend  Wastle, 
who,  as  might  be  supposed,  is  one  of  its  most  fre- 
quent visitors.  I  had  not  been  long  in  Edinburgh 
before  I  began  to  make  some  enquiries  concerning  the 
state  of  art  in  Scotland,  and  Wastle  immediately  con- 
ducted me  to  this  dilettanti  lounge,  saying,  that  here 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  113 

was  the  only  place  where  I  might  be  furnished  with 
every  means  of  satisfying  all  my  curiosity.  On 
entering,  one  finds  a  very  neat  and  tasteful  looking 
shop.  ...  A  few  sedate-looking  old-fashioned  cits 
are  probably  engaged  in  conning  over  the  Edinburgh 
papers  of  the  day,  and  perhaps  discussing  mordicus 
the  great  question  of  burgh  reform.  .  .  .  After  wait- 
ing a  few  minutes  the  younger  partner  tips  a  sly  wink 
across  his  counter,  and  beckons  you  to  follow  him 
through  a  narrow  cut  in  its  mahogany  surface,  into 
the  unseen  recesses  of  the  establishment.  A  few  steps 
downwards,  and  in  the  dark,  land  you  in  a  sort  of 
cellar  below  the  shop  proper,  and  here  by  the  dim  and 
religious  light  which  enters  through  one  or  two  well- 
grated  peeping-holes,  your  eyes  soon  discover  enough  of 
the  furniture  of  the  place,  to  satisfy  you  that  you  have 
at  last  reached  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  the  Fine  Arts. 

J.   G.   LOCKHART. 


MERRY  EDINBURGH 

FOR  sekerly  the  truth  to  tell, 

I  come  among  you  here  to  dwell ; 

Fra  sound  of  St.  Giles's  bell 

Never  think  I  to  flee. 
Wherefor  in  Scotland  come  I  here, 
With  you  to  bide  and  persevere 
In  Edinburgh,  where  is  merriest  cheer  ; 

Pleasant  disport,  and  play  ; 
Which  is  the  lamp,  and  A  per  se 
Of  this  region,  in  all  degree 
Of  wellfare  and  of  honesty, 

Renown  and  rich  array. 

WILLIAM  DUNBAR. 
8 


H4          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

AN  INCIDENT  FROM  '  WAVERLEY  ' 

AN    EXTERIOR    ASPECT    OF    EDINBURGH 

EARLY  in  the  morning  they  [the  travellers]  were  again 
mounted,  and  on  the  road  to  Edinburgh,  though  the 
pallid  visages  of  some  of  the  troop  betrayed  that  they 
had  spent  a  night  of  sleepless  debauchery.  They 
halted  at  Linlithgow,  distinguished  by  its  ancient 
palace,  which,  Sixty  Years  since,  was  entire  and  hab- 
itable, and  whose  venerable  ruins,  not  quite  Sixty 
Years  since,  very  narrowly  escaped  the  unworthy  fate 
of  being  converted  into  a  barrack  for  French  prisoners. 
May  repose  and  blessings  attend  the  ashes  of  the 
patriotic  statesman,  who  amongst  his  last  services  to 
Scotland,  interposed  to  prevent  this  profanation  ! 

As  they  approached  the  metropolis  of  Scotland, 
through  a  champaign  and  cultivated  country,  the 
sounds  of  war  began  to  be  heard.  The  distant,  yet 
distinct  report  of  heavy  cannon,  fired  at  intervals, 
apprized  Waverley  that  the  work  of  destruction  was 
going  forward.  Even  Balmawhapple  seemed  moved 
to  take  some  precautions,  by  sending  an  advanced 
party  in  front  of  his  troop,  keeping  the  main  body  in 
tolerable  order,  and  moving  steadily  forward. 

Marching  in  this  manner,  they  speedily  reached  an 
eminence,  from  which  they  could  view  Edinburgh 
stretching  along  the  ridgy  hill  which  slopes  eastward 
from  the  Castle.  The  latter,  being  in  a  state  of  siege, 
or  rather  of  blockade,  by  the  northern  insurgents, 
who  had  already  occupied  the  town  for  two  or  three 
days,  fired  at  intervals  upon  such  parties  of  High- 
landers as  exposed  themselves,  either  on  the  main 
street,  or  elsewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  fortress.  The 
morning  being  calm  and  fair,  the  effect  of  this  dropping 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  115 

fire  was  to  invest  the  Castle  in  wreaths  of  smoke, 
the  edges  of  which  dissipated  slowly  in  the  air,  while 
the  central  veil  was  darkened  ever  and  anon  by  fresh 
clouds  poured  forth  from  the  battlements  ;  the  whole 
giving,  by  the  partial  concealment,  an  appearance  of 
grandeur  and  gloom,  rendered  more  terrific  when 
Waverley  reflected  on  the  cause  by  which  it  was  pro- 
duced, and  that  each  explosion  might  ring  some 
brave  man's  knell. 

Ere  they  approached  the  city,  the  partial  cannonade 
had  wholly  ceased.  Balmawhapple,  however,  having 
in  his  recollection  the  unfriendly  greeting  which  his 
troop  had  received  from  the  battery  at  Stirling,  had 
apparently  no  wish  to  tempt  the  forbearance  of  the 
artillery  of  the  Castle.  He  therefore  left  the  direct 
road,  and  sweeping  considerably  to  the  southward, 
so  as  to  keep  out  of  the  range  of  the  cannon,  ap- 
proached the  ancient  palace  of  Holyrood,  without 
having  entered  the  walls  of  the  city.  He  then  drew 
up  his  men  in  front  of  that  venerable  pile,  and  de- 
livered Waverley  to  the  custody  of  a  guard  of  High- 
landers, whose  officer  conducted  him  into  the  interior 
of  the  building. 

A  long,  low,  and  ill-proportioned  gallery,  hung 
with  pictures,  affirmed  to  be  the  portraits  of  kings, 
who,  if  they  ever  flourished  at  all,  lived  several  hun- 
dred years  before  the  invention  of  painting  in  oil 
colours,  served  as  a  sort  of  guard  chamber,  or  vesti- 
bule, to  the  apartments  which  the  adventurous 
Charles  Edward  now  occupied  in  the  palace  of  his 
ancestors.  Officers,  both  in  the  Highland  and  Low- 
land garb,  passed  and  repassed  in  haste,  or  loitered 
in  the  hall,  as  jf  waiting  for  orders.  Secretaries  were 
engaged  in  making  out  passes,  musters,  and  returns. 

8—2 


n6          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

All  seemed  busy,  and  earnestly  intent  upon  something 
of  importance  ;  but  Waverley  was  suffered  to  remain 
seated  in  the  recess  of  a  window  unnoticed  by  anyone, 
in  anxious  reflection  upon  the  crisis  of  his  fate,  which 
seemed  now  rapidly  approaching. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


NOBLE  EDINBURGH 

OF  all  the  cities  in  the  British  Islands,  Edinburgh  is 
the  one  which  presents  most  advantages  for  the  dis- 
play of  a  noble  building  ;  and  which,  on  the  other 
hand,  sustains  most  injury  in  the  erection  of  a  com- 
monplace or  unworthy  one.  You  are  all  proud  of  your 
city :  surely  you  must  feel  it  a  duty  in  some  sort  to 
justify  your  pride  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  give  yourselves 
a  right  to  be  proud  of  it.  That  you  were  born  under 
the  shadow  of  its  two  fantastic  mountains — that  you 
live  where  from  your  room  windows  you  can  trace 
the  shores  of  its  glittering  Firth,  are  no  rightful 
subjects  of  pride.  You  did  not  raise  the  mountains, 
nor  shape  the  shores  ;  and  the  historical  houses  of 
your  Canongate,  and  the  broad  battlements  of  your 
Castle,  reflect  honour  upon  you  only  through  your 
ancestors.  Before  you  boast  of  your  city,  before 
even  you  venture  to  call  it  yours,  ought  you  not 
scrupulously  to  weigh  the  exact  share  you  have  had 
in  adding  to  it  or  adorning  it,  to  calculate  seriously 
the  influence  upon  its  aspect  which  the  work  of  your 
own  hands  has  exercised  ?  I  do  not  say  that,  even 
when  you  regard  your  city  in  this  scrupulous  and 
testing  spirit,  you  have  not  considerable  ground  for 
exultation.  As  far  as  I  am  acquainted  with  modern 
architecture,  I  am  aware  of  no  streets  which,  in 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  117 

simplicity  and  manliness  of  style,  or  general  breadth 
and  brightness -of  effect,  equal  those  of  the  New  Town 
of  Edinburgh.  But  yet  I  am  well  persuaded  that 
as  you  traverse  those  streets,  your  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  pride  in  them  are  much  complicated  with  those 
which  are  excited  entirely  by  the  surrounding  scenery. 
As  you  walk  up  or  down  George  Street,  for  instance, 
do  you  not  look  eagerly  for  every  opening  to  the  north 
and  south,  which  lets  in  the  lustre  of  the  Firth  of 
Forth,  or  the  rugged  outline  of  the  Castle  Rock  ? 
Take  away  the  sea-waves,  and  the  dark  basalt,  and  I 
fear  you  would  find  little  to  interest  you  in  George 
Street  by  itself.  Now  I  remember  a  city,  more  nobly 
placed  even  than  your  Edinburgh,  which,  instead  of 
the  valley  that  you  have  now  filled  by  lines  of  railroad, 
has  a  broad  and  rushing  river  of  blue  water  sweeping 
through  the  heart  of  it ;  which,  for  the  dark  and  soli- 
tary rock  that  bears  your  castle,  has  an  amphitheatre 
of  cliffs  crested  with  cypresses  and  olive  ;  which,  for 
the  two  masses  of  Arthur's  Seat  and  the  ranges  of  the 
Pentlands,  has  a  chain  of  blue  mountains  higher  than 
the  haughtiest  peaks  of  your  Highlands  ;  and  which, 
for  your  far-away  Ben  Ledi  and  Ben  More,  has  the 
great  central  chain  of  the  St.  Gothard  Alps  :  and  yet, 
as  you  go  out  of  the  gates,  and  walk  in  the  suburban 
streets  of  that  city — I  mean  Verona — the  eye  never 
seeks  to  rest  on  that  external  scenery,  however 
gorgeous  ;  it  does  not  look  for  the  gaps  between  the 
houses,  as  you  do  here  :  it  may  for  a  few  moments 
follow  the  broken  line  of  the  great  Alpine  battle- 
ments ;  but  it  is  only  where  they  form  a  background 
for  other  battlements,  built  by  the  hand  of  man. 
There  is  no  necessity  felt  to  dwell  on  the  blue  river  or 
the  burning  hills.  The  heart  and  eye  have  enough 


n8          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

to  do  in  the  streets  of  the  city  itself  ;  they  are  con- 
tented there  ;  nay,  they  sometimes  turn  from  the 
natural  scenery,  as  if  too  savage  and  solitary,  to  dwell 
with  a  deeper  interest  on  the  palace  walls  that  cast 
their  shade  upon  the  streets,  and  the  crowd  of  towers 
that  rise  out  of  that  shadow  into  the  depth  of  the  sky. 
That  is  a  city  to  be  proud  of,  indeed  ;  and  it  is  this 
kind  of  architectural  dignity  which  you  should  aim 
at,  hi  what  you  add  to  Edinburgh  or  rebuild  in  it. 
For  remember,  you  must  either  help  your  scenery  or 
destroy  it ;  whatever  you  do  has  an  effect  of  one  kind 
or  the  other  ;  it  is  never  indifferent.  But,  above  all, 
remember  that  it  is  chiefly  by  private,  not  by  public, 
effort  that  your  city  must  be  adorned.  It  does  not 
matter  how  many  beautiful  public  buildings  you  pos- 
sess, if  they  are  not  supported  by,  and  in  harmony 
with,  the  private  houses  of  the  town.  Neither  the  mind 
nor  the  eye  will  accept  a  new  college,  or  a  new  hospital, 
or  a  new  institution,  for  a  city.  It  is  the  Canongate, 
and  the  Princes  Street,  and  the  High  Street  that  are 
Edinburgh.  It  is  in  your  own  private  houses  that 
the  real  majesty  of  Edinburgh  must  consist ;  and, 
what  is  more,  it  must  be  by  your  own  personal  interest 
that  the  style  of  the  architecture  which  rises  around 
you  must  be  principally  guided.  Do  not  think  that 
you  can  have  good  architecture  merely  by  paying  for 
it.  It  is  not  by  subscribing  liberally  for  a  large 
building  once  in  forty  years  that  you  can  call  up 
architects  and  inspiration.  It  is  only  by  active  and 
sympathetic  attention  to  the  domestic  and  every-day 
work  which  is  done  for  each  of  you,  that  you  can  edu- 
cate either  yourselves  to  the  feeling,  or  your  builders 
to  the  doing,  of  what  is  truly  great. 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  119 

REVISITING  EDINBURGH 

You  must  know  I  am  a  native  of  Edinburgh,  where  I 
passed  my  youth,  and  received  my  education  ;  but 
have  long  been  settled  in  London.  Some  years  ago, 
I  was  impelled  by  a  very  natural  desire  to  revisit  my 
native  country.  .  .  .  On  my  arrival  in  Edinburgh, 
I  will  own  that  what  first  struck  me  was  the  total 
change  of  faces.  Very  few  were  left  whom  I  knew 
when  a  boy,  and  those  so  altered  in  their  appearance, 
so  much  the  shadows  only  of  what  they  once  were,  as 
could  not  fail  to  excite  many  serious  reflections. 
Hardly  a  single  house  did  I  find  inhabited  by  the  same 
persons  I  left  in  it  :  but  everywhere  a  new  race,  new 
manners,  and  new  modes  of  living.  In  short,  I  found 
myself,  in  almost  every  sense  of  the  word,  an  utter 
stranger.  Even  the  improvements  that  had  been  made 
during  my  long  absence  displeased  me.  The  corn-fields 
on  the  south  side  of  the  town  were  quite  covered  with 
substantial  houses  ;  Barefoot's  Parks,  where  I  have 
had  many  a  retired  and  pleasant  walk,  converted  into 
a  splendid  city  ;  and  in  the  old  town,  many  ruinous 
buildings,  the  scenes  of  some  of  my  youthful  amuse- 
ments, now  rebuilt  with  equal  solidity  and  elegance. 

Nor  were  these  my  only  grievances.  The  removal 
of  the  Cross,  of  the  Netherbow-port,  and  of  many 
other  incumbrances ;  in  short,  every  alteration, 
though  evidently  for  the  better,  that  had  taken 
place  since  my  departure,  more  or  less  displeased 
me.  ...  I  will  acknowledge,  however,  that  I 
had  the  satisfaction  to  find  many  more  places  that 
did  not  hurt  me  by  any  alteration  or  improvement. 
Your  wynds  and  closes  were  nearly  in  the  state  I  left 
them  ;  and  where,  in  some  parts  of  the  streets,  you 


120          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

have  got  new  pavements,  the  good  people  who  live 
at  the  sides  of  them  take  care  that  there  shall  be  no 
innovation  in  point  of  cleanliness.  Your  Theatre  and 
Concert-hall  are  new  buildings  ;  but  your  Assembly- 
room,  where  people  of  the  highest  fashion  resort,  is 
just  as  paltry  as  ever.  But  as  they  dance  there  for 
the  benefit  of  the  poor,  I  shall  forbear  any  farther 
remarks  on  it. — Charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins. 

The  High-school,  and  its  environs,  I  found  un- 
altered, though  the  yards  appeared  to  me  to  be  much 
diminished  in  their  extent.  The  College,  too,  re- 
mained the  same  plain,  mean,  unadorned  building  it 
was  half  a  century  ago,  and  seemed  to  me,  after  having 
seen  the  splendid  palaces  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
more  homely  than  ever.  Though,  perhaps,  in  litera- 
ture, as  in  religion,  Sister  Peg  confines  herself  to  sub- 
stance, without  much  regard  to  ornament ;  yet, 
methinks,  it  is  rather  a  reproach  to  the  capital  of  our 
country,  that,  amidst  all  its  improvements,  this 
university,  so  much  celebrated  over  Europe  for  the 
ability  of  its  professors,  and  the  success  with  which 
every  branch  of  science  is  there  cultivated,  should 
present  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  a  set  of  buildings  so 
inconvenient  as  well  as  mean.  The  present  period  is, 
perhaps,  not  very  favourable  to  expensive  public 
designs.  .  .  .  Nor  could  I  refrain,  as  I  passed  along, 
from  dropping  a  tear  over  the  ruins  of  our  religious 
houses  ;  which,  however  they  might  have  perverted 
from  the  original  purposes  of  their  erection,  I  could  not 
help  considering  as  splendid  monuments  of  the  piety 
of  our  ancestors.  Some  of  them  I  saw  had  still  more 
tender  ties  upon  my  mind.  I  remembered  having 
played  when  a  boy,  under  arches,  which  Time  had  since 
mouldered  away,  with  companions,  the  echo  of  whose 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  121 

voices  was  still  fresh  in  my  memory,  though  they,  alas ! 
as  well  as  those  arches,  were  now  crumbled  into 
dust! 

Were  I  to  go  on,  I  find  I  should  be  in  danger  of 
growing  too  serious.  Recalling  to  remembrance  days 
long  past,  and  the  juvenile  society  of  those  who  are 
now  no  more,  is  an  awful  operation  of  the  human 
mind  ;  and  while  it  speaks  loudly  of  the  truth  of  St. 
Paul's  observation,  that  '  the  fashion  of  this  world 
•passeth  away,'  imperceptibly  leads  to  a  train  of  think- 
ing that  might  be  here  out  of  place,  though  it  is  neither 
unpleasing  nor  unsuitable  to  the  character  of  a 
rational  being,  who  hath  been  taught  and  accustomed 
to  consider  himself  as  an  immortal  part  of  the  creation. 

HENRY   MACKENZIE. 


THERE'S  A  YOUTH  IN  THIS  CITY 

THERE'S  a  youth  in  this  city, 

It  were  a  great  pity 
That  he  frae  our  lasses  shou'd  wander  awa' ; 

For  he's  bonnie  and  braw, 

Weel  favour'd  witha', 
And  his  hair  has  a  natural  buckle  an'  a'. 

His  coat  is  the  hue 

Of  his  bonnet  sae  blue  : 
His  fecket  is  white  as  the  new  driven  snaw  ; 

His  hose  they  are  blae, 

And  his  shoon  like  the  slae, 
And  his  clear  siller  buckles  they  dazzle  us  a'. 

For  beauty  and  fortune 
The  laddie's  been  courtin'  ; 
Weel-featured,  weel-tocher'd,  weel-mounted,  and  braw; 


122          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

But  chiefly  the  siller, 
That  gars  him  gang  till  her, 
The  pennie's  the  jewel  that  beautifies  a'. 
There's  Meg  wi'  the  mailen 
That  fain  wad  a  haen  him  ; 
And  Susie,  whose  daddy  was  laird  o'  the  ha'  ; 
There's  lang-tocher'd  Nancy 
Maist  fetters  his  fancy — 
But  the  laddie's  dear  sel'  he  lo'es  dearest  of  a'. 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


SALISBURY  CRAGS 

Arthur's  Seat  shall  be  my  bed, 

The  sheets  shall  ne'er  be  pressed  by  me  ; 

St.  Anton's  Well  shall  be  my  drink, 
Sin'  my  true-love's  forsaken  me. 

Old  Song. 

IF  I  were  to  choose  a  spot  from  which  the  rising  or 
setting  sun  could  be  seen  to  the  greatest  possible 
advantage,  it  would  be  that  wild  path  winding 
around  the  foot  of  the  high  belt  of  semicircular  rocks, 
called  Salisbury  Crags,  and  marking  the  verge  of  the 
steep  descent  which  slopes  down  into  the  glen  on  the 
south-eastern  side  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh.  The 
prospect,  in  its  general  outline,  commands  a  close- 
built,  high-piled  city,  stretching  itself  out  beneath  in 
a  form,  which,  to  a  romantic  imagination,  may  be 
supposed  to  represent  that  of  a  dragon  ;  now,  a  noble 
arm  of  the  sea,  with  its  rocks,  isles,  distant  shores, 
and  boundary  of  mountains  ;  and  now,  a  fair  and  fer- 
tile champaign  country,  varied  with  hill,  dale,  and 
rock,  and  skirted  by  the  picturesque  ridge  of  the 
Pentland  mountains.  But  as  the  path  gently  circles 
around  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  the  prospect,  composed 


EDINBURGH  TOWN  123 

as  it  is  of  these  enchanting  and  sublime  objects, 
changes  at  every  step,  and  presents  them  blended 
with,  or  divided  from,  each  other,  in  every  possible 
variety  which  can  gratify  the  eye  and  the  imagina- 
tion. When  a  piece  of  scenery  so  beautiful,  yet  so 
varied, — so  exciting  by  its  intricacy,  and  yet  so 
sublime, — is  lighted  up  by  the  tints  of  morning  or 
of  evening,  and  displays  all  that  variety  of  shadowy 
depth,  exchanged  with  partial  brilliancy,  which  gives 
character  even  to  the  tamest  of  landscapes,  the  effect 
approaches  near  to  enchantment. 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


TO  FRIENDS  LEFT  IN  EDINBURGH 

WRITTEN    AT    ST.    ANDREWS 

ALONG  the  shelves  that  line  Kilriven's  shore 
I  lingering  pass,  with  steps  well  poised  and  slow, 
Where  brown  the  slippery  wreathes  of  sea-weeds 
grow, 

And  listen  to  the  weltering  ocean's  roar. 

When  o'er  the  crisping  waves  the  sunbeams  gleam, 
And  from  the  hills  the  latest  streaks  of  day 
Recede,  by  Eden's  shadowy  banks  I  stray, 

And  lash  the  willows  blue  that  fringe  the  stream  ; 

And  often  to  myself,  in  whispers  weak, 

I  breathe  the  name  of  some  dear  gentle  maid, 
Of  some  loved  friend,  whom  in  Edina's  shade 

I  left,  when  forced  these  eastern  shores  to  seek. 
And  for  the  distant  months  I  sigh  in  vain, 
To  bring  me  to  those  favourite  haunts  again. 

JOHN   LEYDEN. 


124          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

FAREWELL  ON  LEAVING  EDINBURGH 

FAREWELL,  Edina  !  pleasing  name, — 

Congenial  to  my  heart  ! 
A  joyous  guest  to  thee  I  came, 

And  mournful  I  depart. 

And  fare  thee  well,  whose  blessings  seem 
Heaven's  blessing  to  portend. 

Endeared  by  nature  and  esteem — 
My  sister  and  my  friend  ! 

THOMAS   CAMPBELL. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS 


Princes  Street, — that  noblest  of  earthly  promenades. 

S.    R.    CROCKETT. 

August,  around,  what  public  works  I  see  ! 
Lo,  stately  streets  !  lo,  squares  that  court  the  breeze  ! 

THOMSON. 

Queen  Street  is  a  very  gay  one,  and  so  is  Princes  Street, 
for  all  the  lads  and  lasses,  besides  bucks  and  beggars,  parade 
there. 

MARJORIE   FLEMING    ('  PET   MARJORIE  '). 


FROM  A  WINDOW  IN  PRINCES  STREET 

ABOVE  the  Crags  that  fade  and  gloom 

Starts  the  bare  knee  of  Arthur's  Seat ; 
Ridged  high  against  the  evening  bloom, 

The  Old  Town  rises,  street  on  street ; 
With  lamps  bejewelled,  straight  ahead, 

Like  rampired  walls  the  houses  lean, 
All  spired  and  domed  and  turreted, 

Sheer  to  the  valley's  darkling  green  ; 
Ranged  in  mysterious  disarray, 

The  Castle,  menacing  and  austere, 
Looms  through  the  lingering  last  of  day  ; 

And  in  the  silver  dusk  you  hear, 
Reverberated  from  crag  to  scar, 
Bold  bugles  blowing  points  of  war. 

W.    E.    HENLEY. 

* 

THE  HIGH  STREET  OF  EDINBURGH 

TIER  upon  tier  I  see  the  mansions  rise, 
Whose  azure  summits  mingle  with  the  skies ; 
There,  from  the  earth  the  labouring  porters  bear 
The  elements  of  fire  and  water  high  in  air  ; 
There,  as  you  scale  the  steps  with  toilsome  tread, 
The  dripping  barrel  modifies  your  head  ; 
Thence,  as  adown  the  giddy  round  you  wheel, 
A  rising  porter  greets  you  with  his  creel ! 
Here,  in  these  chambers,  ever  dull  and  dark, 
The  lady  gay  received  her  gayer  spark, 
Who,  clad  in  silken  coat,  with  cautious  tread, 
Trembled  at  opening  casements  overhead  ; 

127 


128          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

But  when  in  safety  at  her  porch  he  trod, 

He  seized  the  ring,  and  rasped  the  twisted  rod. 

No  idlers  then,  I  trow,  were  seen  to  meet, 

Linked,  six-a-row,  six  hours  in  Princes  Street ; 

But,  one  by  one,  they  panted  up  the  hill, 

And  picked  their  steps  with  most  uncommon  skill ; 

Then,  at  the  Cross,  each  joined  the  motley  mob — 

'  How  are  ye,  Tarn  ?'  and,  '  How's  a'  wi'  ye,  Bob  ?' 

Next  to  a  neighbouring  tavern  all  retired, 

And  draughts  of  wine  their  various  thoughts  inspired. 

O'er  draughts  of  wine  the  beau  would  moan  his  love  ; 

O'er  draughts  of  wine  the  cit  his  bargain  drove  ; 

O'er  draughts  of  wine  the  writer  penned  the  will ; 

And  legal  wisdom  counselled  o'er  a  gill.  .  .  . 

Yes  !  mark  the  street,  for  youth  the  great  resort, 

Its  spacious  width  the  theatre  of  sport. 

There,  midst  the  crowd,  the  jingling  hoop  is  driven  ; 

Full  many  a  leg  is  hit,  and  curse  is  given. 

There,  on  the  pavement,  mystic  forms  are  chalked, 

Defaced,  renewed,  delayed — but  never  balked  ; 

There  romping  Miss  the  rounded  state  may  drop, 

And  kick  it  out  with  persevering  hop. 

There,  in  the  dirty  current  of  the  strand, 

Boys  drop  the  rival  corks  with  ready  hand, 

And,  wading  through  the  puddle  with  slow  pace, 

Watch  in  solicitude  the  doubtful  race  ! 

And  there,  an  active  band,  with  frequent  boast, 

Vault  in  succession  o'er  each  wooden  post. 

Or  a  bold  stripling,  noted  for  his  might, 

Heads  the  array,  and  rules  the  mimic  fight. 

From  hand  and  sling  now  fly  the  whizzing  stones, 

Unheeded  broken  heads  and  broken  bones. 

The  rival  hosts  in  close  engagement  mix, 

Drive  and  are  driven  by  the  dint  of  sticks. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  129 

The  bicker  rages,  till  some  mother's  fears 
Ring  a  sad  story  in  a  bailie's  ears. 
Her  prayer  is  heard  ;  the  order  quick  is  sped, 
And,  from  that  corps  which  hapless  Porteous  led, 
A  brave  detachment,  probably  of  two, 
Rush,  like  two  kites,  upon  the  warlike  crew, 
Who,  struggling,  like  the  fabled  frogs  and  mice, 
Are  pounced  upon,  and  carried  in  a  trice. 

SIR   ALEXANDER   BOSWELL. 


THE  PLAID  IN  THE  HIGH  STREET 

LIGHT  as  the  pinions  of  the  airy  fry 

Of  larks  and  linnets  who  traverse  the  sky, 

Is  the  Tartana,  spun  so  very  fine 

Its  weight  can  never  make  the  fair  repine  ; 

Nor  does  it  move  beyond  its  proper  sphere, 

But  lets  the  gown  in  all  its  shape  appear  ; 

Nor  is  the  straightness  of  her  waist  denied 

To  be  by  every  ravished  eye  surveyed  ; 

For  this  the  hoop  may  stand  at  largest  bend, 

It  comes  not  nigh,  nor  can  its  weight  offend.  .  .  . 

If  shining  red  Campbella's  cheeks  adorn, 

Our  fancies  straight  conceive  the  blushing  morn, 

Beneath  whose  dawn  the  sun  of  beauty  lies, 

Nor  need  we  light  but  from  Campbella's  eyes. 

If  lined  with  green  Stuarta's  plaid  we  view, 

Or  thine,  Ramsilia,  edged  around  with  blue, 

One  shows  the  spring  when  nature  is  most  kind, 

The  other  heaven  whose  spangles  lift  the  mind.  .   . 

From  when  the  cock  proclaims  the  rising  day, 

And  milkmaids  sing  around  sweet  curds  and  whey, 

Till  grey-eyed  twilight,  harbinger  of  night, 

Pursues  o'er  silver  mountains  sinking  light, 

9 


130          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

I  can  unwearied  from  my  casement  view 

The  Plaid,  with  something  still  about  it  new. 

How  we  are  pleased  when,  with  a  handsome  air, 

We  see  Hepburna  walk  with  easy  care  ! 

One  arm  half  circles  round  her  slender  waist, 

The  other  like  an  ivory  pillar  placed, 

To  hold  her  plaid  around  her  modest  face, 

Which  saves  her  blushes  with  the  gayest  grace  ; 

If  in  white  kids  her  slender  fingers  move, 

Or,  unconfmed,  jet  through  the  sable  glove. 

With  what  a  pretty  action  Keitha  holds 
Her  plaid,  and  varies  oft  its  airy  fold  ! 
How  does  that  naked  space  the  spirits  move, 
Between  the  ruffled  lawn  and  envious  glove  ! 
We  by  the  sample,  though  no  more  be  seen, 
Imagine  all  that's  fair  within  the  screen. 

Thus  belles  in  plaids  veil  and  display  their  charms, 
The  love-sick  youth  thus  bright  Humea  warms, 
And  with  her  graceful  mien  her  rivals  all  alarms. 

ALLAN    RAMSAY. 


BOB  AINSLIE  AND  I 

FOUR-AND-THIRTY  years  ago,  Bob  Ainslie  and  I  were 
coming  up  Infirmary  Street  from  the  High  School, 
our  heads  together,  and  our  arms  intertwisted,  as 
only  lovers  and  boys  know  how ,  or  why. 

When  we  got  to  the  top  of  the  street,  and  turned 
north,  we  espied  a  crowd  at  the  Tron  Church.  '  A 
dog-fight  !'  shouted  Bob,  and  was  off ;  and  so  was 
I,  both  of  us  all  but  praying  that  it  might  not  be 
over  before  we  got  up  !  and  is  not  this  boy-nature  ? 
and  human  nature  too  ?  and  don't  we  all  wish  a 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  131 

house  on  fire  not  to  be  out  before  we  see  it  ?  Dogs 
like  fighting  ;  old  Isaac  says  they  '  delight '  in  it, 
and  for  the  best  of  all  reasons  ;  and  boys  are  not 
cruel  because  they  like  to  see  the  fight.  They  see 
three  of  the  great  cardinal  virtues  of  dog  or  man — 
courage,  endurance,  and  skill — in  intense  action. 
This  is  very  different  from  a  love  of  making  dogs 
fight,  and  enjoying,  and  aggravating,  and  making 
gain  by  their  pluck.  A  boy — be  he  ever  so  fond  him- 
self of  fighting,  if  he  be  a  good  boy,  hates  and  despises 
all  this,  but  he  would  have  run  off  with  Bob  and  me 
fast  enough  :  it  is  a  natural,  and  a  not  wicked  interest, 
that  all  boys  and  men  have  in  witnessing  intense 
energy  in  action. 

Does  any  curious  and  finely-ignorant  woman  wish 
to  know,  how  Bob's  eye  at  a  glance  announced  a 
dog-fight  to  his  brain  ?  He  did  not,  he  could  not 
see  the  dogs  fighting  ;  it  was  a  flash  of  an  inference, 
a  rapid  induction.  The  crowd  round  a  couple  of 
dogs  fighting  is  a  crowd,  masculine  mainly,  with 
an  occasional  active,  compassionate  woman,  fluttering 
wildly  round  the  outside,  and  using  her  tongue  and 
her  hands  freely  upon  the  men,  as  so  many  '  brutes  ' ; 
it  is  a  crowd  annular,  compact,  and  mobile  ;  a  crowd 
centripetal,  having  its  eyes  and  its  heads  all  bent 
downwards  and  inwards,  to  one  common  focus. 

Well,  Bob  and  I  are  up,  and  find  it  is  not  over  : 
a  small,  thoroughbred,  white  bull-terrier  is  busy 
throttling  a  large  shepherd's  dog,  unaccustomed  to 
war,  but  not  to  be  trifled  with.  They  are  hard  at  it ; 
the  scientific  little  fellow  doing  his  work  in  great 
style,  his  pastoral  enemy  fighting  wildly,  but  with 
the  sharpest  of  teeth  and  a  great  courage.  Science 
and  breeding,  however,  soon  took  their  own  ;  the 

9—2 


132          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Game  Chicken,  as  the  premature  Bob  called  him, 
working  his  way  up,  took  his  final  grip  of  poor 
Yarrow's  throat, — and  he  lay  gasping  and  done  for. 
His  master,  a  brown,  handsome,  big  young  shepherd 
from  Tweedsmuir,  would  have  liked  to  have  knocked 
down  any  man,  '  drunk  up  Esil,  or  eaten  a  croco- 
dile,' for  that  part,  if  he  had  a  chance  :  it  was  no 
use  kicking  the  little  dog  ;  that  would  only  make  him 
hold  the  closer.  Many  were  the  means  shouted  out 
in  mouthfuls,  of  the  best  possible  ways  of  ending  it. 
'  Water  !'  but  there  was  none  near,  and  many  shouted 
for  it  who  might  have  got  it  from  the  well  at  Black - 
friars  Wynd.  '  Bite  the  tail  !'  and  a  large,  vague, 
benevolent,  middle-aged  man,  more  anxious  than 
wise,  with  some  struggle  got  the  bushy  end  of 
Yarrow's  tail  into  his  ample  mouth,  and  bit  it  with  all 
his  might.  This  was  more  than  enough  for  the  much- 
enduring,  much-perspiring  shepherd,  who,  with  a 
gleam  of  joy  over  his  broad  visage,  delivered  a  terrific 
facer  upon  our  large,  vague,  benevolent,  middle-aged 
friend, — who  went  down  like  a  shot. 

Still  the  Chicken  holds  ;  death  not  far  off.  '  Snuff  ! 
a  pinch  of  snuff  !'  observed  sharply  a  calm,  highly- 
dressed  young  buck,  with  an  eye-glass  in  his  eye. 
'  Snuff,  indeed  !'  growled  the  angry  crowd,  affronted 
and  glaring.  '  Snuff !  a  pinch  of  snuff !'  again 
observes  the  buck,  but  with  more  urgency  ;  whereon 
were  produced  several  open  boxes,  and  from  a  mull 
which  may  have  been  at  Culloden,  he  took  a  pinch, 
knelt  down,  and  presented  it  to  the  nose  of  the 
Chicken.  The  laws  of  physiology  and  of  snuff  take 
their  course  ;  the  Chicken  sneezes,  and  Yarrow  is  free  ! 

The  young  pastoral  giant  stalks  off  with  Yarrow 
in  his  arms, — comforting  him. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  133 

But  the  Chicken's  blood  is  up,  and  his  soul  un- 
satisfied ;  he  grips  the  first  dog  he  meets,  but  dis- 
covering she  is  not  a  dog,  in  Homeric  phrase,  he 
makes  a  brief  sort  of  amende,  and  is  off.  The  boys, 
with  Bob  and  me  at  their  head,  are  after  him  ;  down 
Niddry  Street  he  goes,  bent  on  mischief  ;  up  the 
Cowgate  like  an  arrow — Bob  and  I,  and  our  small 
men,  panting  behind. 

There,  under  the  large  arch  of  the  South  Bridge, 
is  a  huge  mastiff,  sauntering  down  the  middle  of  the 
causeway,  as  if  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  :  he  is 
old,  grey,  brindled  ;  as  big  as  a  little  Highland  bull, 
and  has  the  Shakesperian  dewlaps  shaking  as  he  goes. 

The  Chicken  makes  straight  at  him,  and  fastens 
on  his  throat.  To  our  astonishment,  the  great  crea- 
ture does  nothing  but  stand  still,  hold  himself  up, 
and  roar — yes,  roar  ;  a  long,  serious,  remonstrative 
roar.  How  is  this  ?  Bob  and  I  are  up  to  them.  He 
is  muzzled  !  The  bailies  had  proclaimed  a  general 
muzzling,  and  his  master,  studying  strength  and 
economy  mainly,  had  encompassed  his  huge  jaws  in 
a  home-made  apparatus,  constructed  out  of  the 
leather  of  some  ancient  breechin.  His  mouth  was 
open  as  far  as  it  could  ;  his  lips  curled  up  in  rage — 
a  sort  of  terrible  grin  ;  his  teeth  gleaming,  ready,  from 
out  the  darkness ;  the  strap  across  his  mouth  tense 
as  a  bowstring  ;  his  whole  frame  stiff  with  indignation 
and  surprise  ;  his  roar  asking  us  all  round,  '  Did  you 
ever  see  the  like  of  this  ?'  He  looked  a  statue  of  anger 
and  astonishment,  done  in  Aberdeen  granite. 

We  soon  had  a  crowd  :  the  Chicken  held  on.  'A 
knife  !'  cried  Bob  ;  and  a  cobbler  gave  him  his  knife  : 
you  know  the  kind  of  knife,  worn  away  obliquely 
to  a  point,  and  always  keen.  I  put  its  edge  to  the 


134          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

tense  leather  ;  it  ran  before  it  ;  and  then  !  one  sudden 
jerk  of  that  enormous  head,  a  sort  of  dirty  mist 
about  his  mouth,  no  noise, — and  the  bright  and 
fierce  little  fellow  is  dropped,  limp,  and  dead.  A 
solemn  pause  ;  this  was  more  than  any  of  us  had 
bargained  for.  I  turned  the  little  fellow  over,  and 
saw  he  was  quite  dead  :  the  mastiff  had  taken  him  by 
the  small  of  the  back  like  a  rat,  and  broken  it. 

He  looked  down  at  his  victim  appeased,  ashamed, 
and  amazed  ;  snuffed  him  all  over,  stared  at  him,  and 
taking  a  sudden  thought,  turned  round  and  trotted  off. 
Bob  took  the  dead  dog  up,  and  said, '  John,  we'll  bury 
him  after  tea.'  '  Yes,'  said  I ;  and  was  off  after  the 
mastiff.  He  made  up  the  Cowgate  at  a  rapid  swing  : 
he  had  forgotten  some  engagement.  He  turned  up  the 
Candlemaker  Row,  and  stopped  at  the  Harrow  Inn. 

There  was  a  carrier's  cart  ready  to  start,  and  a 
keen,  thin,  impatient,  black-a-vised  little  man,  his 
hand  at  his  grey  horse's  head,  looking  about  angrily 
for  something.  '  Rab,  ye  thief  !'  said  he,  aiming  a 
kick  at  my  great  friend,  who  drew  cringing  up,  and 
avoiding  the  heavy  shoe  with  more  agility  than 
dignity,  and  watching  his  master's  eye,  slunk  dis- 
mayed under  the  cart, — his  ears  down,  and  as  much 
as  he  had  of  tail  down  too. 

What  a  man  this  must  be — thought  I — to  whom 
my  tremendous  hero  turns  tail !  The  carrier  saw  the 
muzzle  hanging,  cut  and  useless,  from  his  neck,  and 
I  eagerly  told  him  the  story,  which  Bob  and  I  always 
thought,  and  still  think,  Homer,  or  King  David,  or 
Sir  Walter,  alone  were  worthy  to  rehearse.  The 
severe  little  man  was  mitigated,  and  condescended 
to  say,  '  Rab,  my  man,  puir  Rabbie,' — whereupon 
the  stump  of  a  tail  rose  up,  the  ears  were  cocked, 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  135 

the  eyes  filled,  and  were  comforted  ;  the  two  friends 
were  reconciled.  '  Hupp  !'  and  a  stroke  of  the  whip 
were  given  to  Jess  ;  and  off  went  the  three. 

JOHN    BROWN,  M.D. 


WHO  can  revert  to  the  literature  of  the  land  of  Scott 
and  of  Burns  without  having  directly  in  his  mind, 
as  inseparable  from  the  subject  and  foremost  in  the 
picture,  that  old  man  of  might,  with  his  lion  heart 
and  sceptred  crutch — Christopher  North.  I  am  glad 
to  remember  the  time  when  I  believed  him  to  be  a 
real,  actual,  veritable  old  gentleman,  that  might  be 
seen  any  day  hobbling  along  the  High  Street  of 
Edinburgh  with  the  most  brilliant  eye — but  that  is 
no  fiction — and  the  greyest  hair  in  all  the  world — 
who  wrote  not  because  he  cared  to  write,  not  because 
he  cared  for  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  his  fellow- 
men,  but  who  wrote  because  he  could  not  help  it, 
because  there  was  always  springing  up  in  his  mind  a 
clear  and  sparkling  stream  of  poetry  which  must 
have  vent,  and  like  the  glittering  fountain  in  the 
fairy  tale,  draw  what  you  might,  was  ever  at  the  full, 
and  never  languished  even  by  a  single  drop  or  bubble. 

CHARLES   DICKENS. 

THE  LAST  SPEECH  OF  EDINBURGH  CROSS 

I  WAS  built  up  in  Gothic  times, 

And  have  stood  several  hundred  reigns  ; 

Sacred  my  mem'ry  and  my  name, 

For  kings  and  queens  I  did  proclaim. 

I  peace  and  war  did  oft  declare, 

And  roused  my  country  ev'ry where  : 


136          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Your  ancestors  around  me  walk'd, 

Your  kings  and  nobles  'side  me  talk'd, 

And  lads  and  lasses  with  delight 

Set  tryst  with  me  to  meet  at  night ; 

No  tryster  e'er  was  at  a  loss, 

For  why,  /'//  meet  you  at  the  Cross. 

I  country  people  did  direct 

Through  all  the  city  with  respect, 

Who  missing  me  will  look  as  droll 

As  mariners  without  the  pole. 

On  me  great  men  have  lost  their  lives, 

And  for  a  maiden  left  their  wives.  . . . 

With  loyal  men  on  loyal  days 

I  dress'd  myself  in  lovely  bays, 

And  with  sweet  apples  treat  the  crowd, 

While  they  hurra'd  around  me  loud. 

Professions  many  have  I  seen, 
And  never  have  disturbed  been  ; 
I've  seen  the  Tory  party  slain, 
And  Whigs  exulting  o'er  the  plain. 
I've  seen  again  the  Tories  rise, 
And  with  loud  shouting  pierce  the  skies, 
Then  crown  their  king  and  chase  the  Whig 
From  Pentland  Hill  to  Bothwell  Brig. 
I've  seen  the  Covenant  by  all  sworn, 
And  likewise  seen  them  burned  and  torn. 
I  neutral  stood  as  peaceful  Quaker, 
With  neither  side  was  I  partaker. 

I  wish  my  life  had  longer  been, 
That  I  might  greater  ferlies  seen, 
Or  else  like  other  things  decay, 
Which  time  alone  does  waste  away. 

CLAUDERO. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  137 

TO  THE  TRON  KIRK  BELL 

WANWORDY,  crazy,  dinsome  thing, 
As  e'er  was  fram'd  to  jow  or  ring, 
What  gar'd  them  sic  in  steeple  hing 

They  ken  themsel', 
But  weel  wat  I  they  coudna  bring 

War  sounds  frae  hell. 

What  de'il  are  ye  ?  that  I  should  bann, 
Your  neither  kin  to  pat  nor  pan  ; 
Nor  ugly  pig,  nor  maister  cann, 

But  weel  may  gie 
Mair  pleasure  to  the  ear  o'  man 

Than  stroke  o'  thee. 

Fleece  merchants  may  look  baul'  I  trow, 
Sin'  a'  Auld  Reikie's  childer  now 
Maun  strap  their  lugs  wi'  teats  o'  woo, 

Thy  sound  to  bang, 
And  keep  it  frae  gawn  thro'  and  thro' 

Wi'  jarrin'  twang. 

Your  noisy  tongue,  there's  nae  abidin  't, 
Like  scaulding  wife's,  there  is  nae  guidin  't  : 
Whan  I'm  'bout  ony  bis'ness  eident, 

It's  sair  to  thole  : 
To  deave  me,  than,  ye  tak  a  pride  in't 

Wi'  senseless  knoll. 

0  !  were  I  provost  o'  the  town, 

1  swear  by  a'  the  pow'rs  aboon, 
I'd  bring  ye  wi'  a  reesle  down  ; 

Nor  shou'd  you  think 
(Sae  sair  I'd  crack  an'  clour  your  crown) 
Again  to  clink. 


138          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

For  whan  I've  toom'd  the  meikle  cap, 
And  fain  wad  fa'  owr  in  a  nap, 
Troth  I  cou'd  doze  as  soun's  a  tap, 

Wer't  na  for  thee 
That  gies  the  tither  weary  chap 

To  wauken  me. 

I  dreamt  ae  night  I  saw  Auld  Nick  ; 
Quo'  he  :  '  This  bell  o'  mine's  a  trick, 
A  wyly  piece  o'  politic, 

A  cunnin'  snare 
To  trap  folk  in  a  cloven  stick, 

Ere  they're  aware. 

'  As  lang's  my  dautit  bell  hings  there, 

A'body  at  the  kirk  will  skair  ; 

Quo'  they,  gif  he  that  preaches  there 

Like  it  can  wound, 
We  douna  care  a  single  hair, 

For  joyfu'  sound.' 

If  magistrates  wi'  me  wud  'gree, 
For  ay  tongue-tackit  shou'd  ye  be, 
Nor  fleg  wi'  anti-melody 

Sic  honest  folk, 
Whase  lugs  were  never  made  to  dree 

Thy  doolfu'  shock. 

But  far  frae  thee  the  bailies  dwell, 
Or  they  wou'd  scunner  at  your  knell : 
Gie  the  foul  thief  his  riven  bell, 

And  than,  I  trow, 
The  by-word  hads,  '  The  de'il  himsel' 

Has  got  his  due.' 

ROBERT   FERGUSSON. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  139 

EMBRO  HIE  KIRK 

THE  Lord  Himsel'  in  former  days 
Waled  out  the  proper  tunes  for  praise 
An'  named  the  proper  kind  o'  claes 

For  folk  to  preach  in  : 
Preceese  and  in  the  chief  o'  ways 

Important  teachin'. 

He  ordered  a'  things  late  and  air'  ; 
He  ordered  folk  to  stand  at  prayer, 
(Although  I  cannae  just  mind  where 

He  gave  the  warnin'), 
An'  pit  pomatum  on  their  hair 

On  Sabbath  mornin'. 

The  hale  o'  life  by  His  commands 
Was  ordered  to  a  body's  hands  ; 
But  see  !  this  corpus  juris  stands 

By  a'  forgotten  ; 
An'  God's  religion  in  a'  lands 

Is  deid  an'  rotten. 

While  thus  the  lave  o'  mankind's  lost, 
O'  Scotland  still  God  makes  His  boast — 
Puir  Scotland,  on  whase  barren  coast 

A  score  or  twa 
Auld  wives  wi'  mutches  an'  a  hoast 

Still  keep  His  law. 

In  Scotland,  a  wheen  canty,  plain, 
Douce,  kintry-leevin'  folk  retain 
The  Truth — or  did  so  aince — alane 

Of  a'  men  leevin'  ; 
An'  noo  just  twa  o'  them  remain — 

Just  Begg  an'  Niven. 


140          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

For  noo,  unfaithfii  to  the  Lord, 
Auld  Scotland  joins  the  rebel  horde  ; 
Her  human  hymn-books  on  the  board 

She  noo  displays  : 
An'  Embro  Hie  kirk's  been  restored 

In  popish  ways. 

O  punctum  temporis  for  action 
To  a'  o'  the  reformin'  faction, 
If  yet,  by  ony  act  or  paction, 

Thocht,  word,  or  sermon, 
This  dark  an'  damnable  transaction 

Micht  yet  determine  ! 

For  see — as  Doctor  Begg  explains — 
Hoo  easy  't's  dime  !  a  pickle  weans, 
Wha  in  the  Hie  Street  gaither  stanes 

By  his  instruction, 
The  uncovenantit,  pentit  panes 

Ding  to  destruction. 

Up,  Niven,  or  ower  late — an'  dash 
Laigh  in  the  glaur  that  carnal  hash  ; 
Let  spires  and  pews  wi'  gran'  stramash 

Thegether  fa'  ; 
The  rumlin'  kist  o'  whustles  smash 

In  pieces  sma'. 

Noo  choose  ye  out  a  walie  hammer  ; 
About  the  knottit  buttress  clam'er  ; 
Alang  the  steep  roof  stoyt  an'  stammer, 

A  gate  mis-chancy  ; 
On  the  aul'  spire,  the  bells'  hie  cha'mer, 

Dance  your  bit  dancie. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  141 

Ding,  devel,  dunt,  destroy,  an'  ruin, 
Wi'  carnal  stanes  the  square  bestrewin', 
Till  your  loud  chaps  frae  Kyle  to  Fruin, 

Frae  Hell  to  Heeven, 
Tell  the  guid  wark  that  baith  are  doin' — 

Baith  Begg  an'  Niven. 

ROBERT  LOUIS   STEVENSON. 
SCOTLAND'S  SHRINE 

I  LEAVE  the  busy  crowded  street 
To  step  within  your  silent  aisles, 

Where  the  dead  hearts  of  centuries  beat 
Beneath  your  storied  roof,  St.  Giles'  ! 

Where  choir  and  chapel  void  and  vast 

Are  filled  with  spirits  of  the  Past ! 

In  golden  shafts  and  rainbow  spears 
The  light  falls  soft  on  oak  and  stone, 

So  filters  through  nine  hundred  years 
The  glory  that  is  Scotland's  own  ; 

For  these  your  sombre  walls  include 

Our  country's  pride  of  nationhood  ! 

The  feet  of  heroes  tread  your  pave 
While  echo  to  their  fame  replies  ; 

The  voice  of  Knox  still  fills  your  nave  ; 
Dead  Stewart  in  your  south  aisle  lies  ; 

Your  roof  and  steeple  once  again 

Are  rampart  for  Queen  Mary's  men  ! 

The  sounds  of  trampling  feet  intrude, 

A  slow  procession  winds  in  state 
Out  of  the  grey-towered  Holyrood 

And  up  the  mourning  Canongate. 
'Tis  great  Montrose  they  carry  home 
To  his  long  rest  beneath  your  dome  ! 


142          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Around  me  stand,  Time's  trusted  fanes, 
,  The  tributes  to  our  later  Dead  ; 

The  triumph  fadeth,  there  remains 

But  grief — the  tears  that  Scotland  shed  ; 
And  high  upon  your  splendid  walls 
The  stained  old  colours  droop  like  palls  ! 

Deep  falls  the  early  winter  eve, 

And  deeper  grows  the  winding  spell 

That  old  Romance  will  always  weave 
Around  the  shrine  we  love  so  well ! 

Oh  !  House  of  Heroes,  proud,  apart, 

How  much  you  hold  of  Scotland's  heart  ! 

WILL  H.    OGILVIE. 

ON  A  STATUE  IN  PARLIAMENT  CLOSE 

There  is  in  the  stately  square  at  Edinburgh,  the  Parliament 
Close,  a  very  fine  statue  of  Charles  II.  on  horseback,  a  cast  in 
lead  larger  than  life.  Some  years  ago  the  Provost  of  the  city, 
from  a  strange  Gothic  fancy,  had  it  laid  over  with  a  thick  coat 
of  paint.to  make  it  look  WHITE  and  NEW.  This  occasioned  the 
following  : 

WELL  done,  my  Lord,  with  noble  taste, 

You've  made  Charles  gay  as  five-and-twenty  ; 
We  may  be  scarce  of  gold  and  corn, 

But  sure  there's  lead  and  gold  in  plenty. 
Yet  for  a  public  work  like  this 

I  would  have  had  some  famous  artist, 
Though  I  had  made  each  mark  a  pound 

I  would  have  had  the  very  smartest. 

Why  not  bring  Allan  Ramsay  down 
From  stately  coronet  and  cushion  ? 

For  he  can  paint  a  living  king 

And  knows — the  English  Constitution. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  143 

The  milk-white  steed  is  well  enough, 
But  why  thus  daub  the  man  all  over, 

And  to  the  swarthy  Stuart  give 
The  cream  complexion  of  Hanover  ? 

JAMES   BOSWELL. 


SCOTTISH  INNS 

THE  courtesy  of  an  invitation  to  partake  a  traveller's 
meal,  or  at  least  that  of  being  invited  to  share  what- 
ever liquor  the  guest  called  for,  was  expected  by  cer- 
tain old  landlords  in  Scotland  even  in  the  youth  of 
the  author.  In  requital,  mine  host  was  always 
furnished  with  the  news  of  the  country,  and  was 
probably  a  little  of  a  humourist  to  boot.  The  devo- 
lution of  the  whole  actual  business  and  drudgery 
of  the  inn  upon  the  poor  gudewife,  was  very  common 
among  the  Scottish  Bonifaces.  There  was  in  ancient 
times,  in  the  city  of  Edinburgh,  a  gentleman  of  good 
family,  who  condescended,  in  order  to  gain  a  liveli- 
hood, to  become  the  nominal  keeper  of  a  coffee-house, 
one  of  the  first  places  of  the  kind  which  had  been 
opened  in  the  Scottish  metropolis.  As  usual,  it  was 
entirely  managed  by  the  careful  and  industrious 

Mrs.  B ;  while  her  husband  amused  himself  with 

field  sports,  without  troubling  his  head  about  the 
matter.  Once  upon  a  time  the  premises  having 
taken  fire,  the  husband  was  met,  walking  up  the 
High  Street  loaded  with  his  guns  and  fishing-rods, 
and  replied  calmly  to  some  one  who  enquired  after 
his  wife,  '  that  the  poor  woman  was  trying  to  save 
a  parcel  of  crockery,  and  some  trumpery-books  '  ; 
the  last  being  those  which  served  her  to  conduct  the 
business  of  the  house. 


144          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

There  were  many  elderly  gentlemen  in  the  author's 
younger  days,  who  still  held  it  part  of  the  amusement 
of  a  journey  '  to  parley  with  mine  host,'  who  often 
resembled,  in  his  quaint  humour,  mine  Host  of  the 
Garter  in  '  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor '  ;  or  Blague  of 
the  George  in  'The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton.'  Some- 
times the  landlady  took  her  share  of  entertaining  the 
company.  In  either  case  the  omitting  to  pay 
them  due  attention  gave  displeasure,  and  perhaps 
brought  down  a  smart  jest,  as  on  the  following  occa- 
sion : — 

A  jolly  dame  who,  not  '  Sixty  Years  since,'  kept 
the  principal  caravansary  at  Greenlaw,  in  Berwick- 
shire, had  the  honour  to  receive  under  her  roof  a 
very  worthy  clergyman,  with  three  sons  of  the  same 
profession,  each  having  a  cure  of  souls  ;  be  it  said  in 
passing,  none  of  the  reverend  party  were  reckoned 
powerful  in  the  pulpit.  After  dinner  was  over,  the 
worthy  senior,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  asked  Mrs. 
Buchan  whether  she  ever  had  had  such  a  party  in 
her  house  before.  '  Here  sit  I,'  he  said,  '  a  placed 
minister  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland,  and  here  sit  my 
three  sons,  each  a  placed  minister  of  the  same  kirk. — 
Confess,  Luckie  Buchan,  you  never  had  such  a  party 
in  your  house  before.'  The  question  was  not  pre- 
mised by  any  invitation  to  sit  down  and  take  a  glass 
of  wine  or  the  like,  so  Mrs.  B.  answered  dryly,  '  Indeed, 
sir,  I  cannot  just  say  that  ever  I  had  such  a  party 
in  my  house  before,  except  once  in  the  forty-five, 
when  I  had  a  Highland  piper  here,  with  his  three 
sons,  all  Highland  pipers  ;  and  deil  a  spring  they  could 
play  amang  them.' 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  145 

GREYFRIARS 

GREYFRIARS.  An  impressive  place.  Huge,  auld,  red, 
gloomy  church  ;  a  countless  multitude  o'  grass-graves 
a'  touchin'  ane  anither.  A'  aroun'  the  kirkyard 
wa's  marble  and  freestane  monuments  without  end, 
o'  a'  shapes,  and  sizes,  and  ages.  Some  quaint, 
some  queer,  some  simple,  some  ornate  ;  for  genius 
likes  to  work  upon  grief.  And  these  tombs  are  like 
towers  and  temples,  partakin'  not  o'  the  noise  o'  the 
city,  but  stannin'  aloof  frae  the  stir  o'  life,  aneath 
the  sombre  shadow  o'  the  castle-cliff,  that  heaves 
its  battlements  far  up  into  the  sky.  A  sublime  ceme- 
tery, yet  I  su'dna  like  to  be  interr'd  in't.  It  looks 
sae  dank  and  clammy  and  cauld. 

CHRISTOPHER   NORTH. 

IN  FISHERROW 

A  HARD  north-easter  fifty  winters  long 

Has  bronzed  and  shrivelled  sere  her  face  and  neck  ; 

Her  locks  are  wild  and  grey,  her  teeth  a  wreck  ; 

Her  foot  is  vast,  her  bowed  leg  spare  and  strong. 

A  wide  blue  cloak,  a  squat  and  sturdy  throng 

Of  curt  blue  coats,  a  mutch  without  a  speck, 

A  white  vest  broidered  black,  her  person  deck, 

Nor  seems  their  picked,  stern,  old-world  quaintness 

wrong. 

Her  great  creel  forehead-slung,  she  wanders  nigh, 
Easing  the  heavy  straps  with  gnarled,  brown  fingers, 
The  spirit  of  traffic  watchful  in  her  eye, 
Ever  and  anon  imploring  you  to  buy, 
As  looking  down  the  street  she  onward  lingers, 
Reproachful,  with  a  strange  and  doleful  cry. 

W.    E.    HENLEY. 
10 


146          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

OUT  OVER  THE  FORTH 

OUT  over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north, 

But  what  is  the  north  and  its  Highlands  to  me  ? 

The  south  nor  the  east  gi'e  ease  to  my  breast, 
The  far  foreign  land,  or  the  wide-rolling  sea. 

But  I  look  to  the  west,  when  I  gae  to  rest, 
That  happy  my  dreams  and  my  slumbers  may  be  ; 

For  far  in  the  west  lives  he  I  lo'e  best, 
The  lad  that  is  dear  to  my  babie  and  me. 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


SUNDAY  IN  EDINBURGH 

BLEST  be  the  ray  which  from  the  purpling  east 
First  darts  its  light  on  Scotia's  lovely  isle 
Upon  the  morning  of  the  holy  day  ; 
And  blessed  be  the  day-spring's  glowing  flood 
Of  glory  ;  blessed  be  the  lark's  shrill  note, 
That,  gently  warbled,  to  the  sabbath  soul 
Comes  fraught  with  soothing  influence,  and  lulls 
To  rest  the  sorrows  which  perplex  the  mind  ; 
And  blessed  be  the  white-edged  silvery  clouds 
That  float  around  the  mountain's  hoary  peak, — 

The  drapery  of  heaven. 
The  city  streets  now  gradually  begin 
To  team  with  life,  and  hurriedly  along 
Numbers  pass  to  and  fro.    Meanwhile 
The  clamour  loud  of  church-bells  fills  the  air  ; 
While,  slowly  pausing,  old  St.  Giles  sends  forth 
His  loud  sonorous  note,  and  gay  St.  George 
Answers  again.     Callous,  indeed,  must  be 
The  heart  that  throbs  not  at  the  solemn  sound. 
Before  the  service  of  the  sacred  day, 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  147 

Let  me  towards  the  silent  lonely  spot 
Where  sleep  the  countless  dead,  direct  my  steps, 
And  muse  awhile  upon  the  end  of  time  ; 
Instruction  drawing  from  the  lettered  stones 
Which  thickly  sad  Greyfriars'  field  of  graves, 
Where,  nameless,  untold  thousands  rest ;  and  where 
The  noble,  the  polite,  and  learned  mix 
Their  ashes  with  the  humblest  of  the  land, 
And  where  the  ever-honoured  martyr  lies. 
Green  grows  the  grass  o'er  Renwick's  precious  dust, 
And  Guthrie's,  who,  in  truth's  behalf,  amidst 
A  storm  of  opposition  from  the  powers 
Of  earth  and  hell  confederate,  stood  firm 
And  in  the  cause  of  freedom  nobly  fell, 
In  '  Scotland's  evil  day,'  beneath  the  hand 
Of  violence  and  misrule.     The  wild-flowers  wave 
Above  the  lowly  bed  of  others,  who, 
Although  less  known  to  fame,  resistance  made 
In  liberty's  defence,  beneath  the  flag 
Which,  floating  on  the  breeze,  displayed  to  view 
The  thrilling  motto,  that  might  well  have  quailed 
The  spirits  of  the  foe,  and  made  them  pause — 
'  Christ's  Crown  Covenant.'  .  .  .    Here  sleeps  in  peace 
Buchanan  of  unmatched  renown, — a  name 
Of  whom  our  country  well  may  boast.     Here  too 
The  poet  rests,  his  harp  unstrung,  and  hushed 
The  voice  that  charmed  mankind  ;  and  he  who  wooed 
And  won  the  muse  of  history  ;  and  the  sage, 
Who  into  nature's  laws  with  prying  eye 
Intently  gazed,  and  from  the  dark  recess 
Brought  truth  imperishable  into  light, 
That  all  might  mark  her  fair  and  graceful  form. 
The  learned  divine  here  sleeps,  his  labours  o'er, 
And  many  round  him  whom  with  care  he  led 

10 — 2 


148          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Into  the  green  and  flowery  pastures,  where 
The  river  of  immortal  life  rolls  on 
Its  purifying  waters.     Sacred  spot. 
Within  thy  precincts  rest  the  wise  and  good.  .  .  . 
Anon  the  church-bells'  cheerful  sound  is  heard, 
And  crowds  pursue  their  homeward  path,  or  stray, 
Listless,  amid  the  'embowered  retreat  that  shades 
The  city's  southern  bound  ;  or  musing,  pace 
The  daisied  sward  of  Bruntsfield.     Some  resort 
To  where  the  ancient  warlike  fortress  sits, 
O'er  looking  fair  and  spacious  streets,  or  rich 
And  graceful  colonnades  ;  while,  stretched  around 
Scenes  all-unrivalled  meet  the  view,  and  well 
Repay  the  lover  of  the  picturesque. 
Before  him,  and  around,  the  city  lies, 
Basking  in  all  her  splendour,  'neath  the  clear 
Unclouded  sky  ;  while,  to  the  south,  the  view 
Is  bounded  by  the  Pentlands'  classic  cliffs, 
And  northward  far  the  wide  and  restless  sea. 

ANON  (1849). 


R.  L.  S.  IN  HIS  CHILDHOOD  CITY 

THERE  stands,  I  fancy,  to  this  day  (but  now,  how 
fallen  !)  a  certain  stationer's  shop  at  a  corner  of  the 
wide  thoroughfare  that  joins  the  city  of  my  childhood 
with  the  sea.  When,  upon  any  Saturday,  we  made  a 
party  to  behold  the  ships,  we  passed  that  corner  ; 
and  since  in  those  days  I  loved  a  ship  as  a  man  loves 
Burgundy  or  daybreak,  this  of  itself  had  been  enough 
to  hallow  it.  But  there  was  more  than  that.  In 
the  Leith  Walk  window,  all  the  year  round,  there 
stood  displayed  a  theatre  in  working  order,  with 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  149 

a  '  forest  set,'  a  '  combat,'  and  a  few  '  robbers  carous- 
ing '  in  the  slides  ;  and  below  and  about,  dearer  ten- 
fold to  me  !  the  plays  themselves,  those  budgets 
of  romance,  lay  tumbled  one  upon  another.  Long 
and  often  have  I  lingered  there  with  empty  pockets. 
One  figure,  we  shall  say,  was  visible  in  the  first 
plate  of  characters,  bearded,  pistol  in  hand,  or  draw- 
ing to  his  ear  the  clothyard  arrow  ;  I  would  spell  the 
name :  was  it  Macaire,  or  Long  Tom  Coffin,  or 
Grindoff,  2d  dress  ?  O,  how  I  would  long  to  see 
the  rest  !  how — if  the  name  by  chance  were  hidden — 
I  would  wonder  in  what  play  he  figured,  and  what 
immortal  legend  justified  his  attitude  and  strange 
apparel !  And  then  to  go  within,  to  announce  your- 
self as  an  intending  purchaser,  and,  closely  watched, 
be  suffered  to  undo  those  bundles  and  breathlessly 
devour  those  pages  of  gesticulating  villains,  epileptic 
combats,  bosky  forests,  palaces,  and  warships, 
frowning  fortresses  and  prison  vaults — it  was  a  giddy 
joy.  That  shop,  which  was  dark  and  smelt  of 
Bibles,  was  a  loadstone  rock  for  all  that  bore  the 
name  of  boy.  They  could  not  pass  it  by,  nor,  having 
entered,  leave  it.  It  was  a  place  beseiged ;  the 
shopmen,  like  the  Jews  rebuilding  Salem,  had  a 
double  task.  They  kept  us  at  the  stick's  end,  frowned 
us  down,  snatched  each  play  out  of  our  hand  ere  we 
were  trusted  with  another ;  and,  incredible  as  it 
may  sound,  used  to  demand  of  us  upon  our  entrance, 
like  banditti,  if  we  came  with  money  or  with  empty 
hand.  Old  Mr.  Smith  himself,  worn  out  with  my 
eternal  vacillation,  once  swept  the  treasures  from 
before  me,  with  the  cry  :  '  I  do  not  believe,  child, 
that  you  are  an  intending  purchaser  at  all !'  These 
were  the  dragons  of  the  garden  ;  but  for  such  joys  of 


150          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

paradise  we  could  have  faced  the  Terror  of  Jamaica 
himself.  Every  sheet  we  fingered  was  another 
lightning  glance  into  obscure,  delicious  story ;  it 
was  like  wallowing  in  the  raw  stuff  of  story-books. 
I  know  nothing  to  compare  with  it  save  now  and  then 
in  dreams,  when  I  am  privileged  to  read  in  certain 
unwrit  stories  of  adventure,  from  which  I  awake  to 
find  the  world  all  vanity.  The  crux  of  Buridan's 
donkey  was  as  nothing  to  the  uncertainty  of  the  boy 
as  he  handled  and  lingered  and  doated  on  these 
bundles  of  delight ;  there  was  a  physical  pleasure 
in  the  sight  and  touch  of  them  which  he  would 
jealously  prolong  ;  and  when  at  length  the  deed  was 
done,  the  play  selected,  and  the  impatient  shopman 
had  brushed  the  rest  into  the  grey  portfolio,  and  the 
boy  was  forth  again,  a  little  late  for  dinner,  the 
lamps  springing  into  light  in  the  blue  winter's  even, 
and  The  Miller,  or  The  Rover,  or  some  kindred  drama 
clutched  against  his  side — on  what  gay  feet  he  ran, 
and  how  he  laughed  aloud  in  exultation  !  I  can  hear 
that  laughter  still.  Out  of  all  the  years  of  my  life, 
I  can  recall  but  one  home-coming  to  compare  with 
these,  and  that  was  on  the  night  when  I  brought 
back  with  me  the  Arabian  Entertainments  in  the  fat, 
old,  double-columned  volume  with  the  prints.  I 
was  just  well  into  the  story  of  the  Hunchback,  I 
remember,  when  my  clergyman-grandfather  (a  man 
we  counted  pretty  stiff)  came  in  behind  me.  I 
grew  blind  with  terror.  But  instead  of  ordering  the 
book  away,  he  said  he  envied  me.  Ah,  well  he 
might  ! 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON. 


IN  EDINBURGH  STREETS  151 

DISCHARGED 

CARRY  me  out 

Into  the  wind  and  the  sunshine, 

Into  the  beautiful  world. 

O  the  wonder,  the  spell  of  the  streets  ! 

The  stature  and  strength  of  the  horses, 

The  rustle  and  echo  of  footfalls, 

The  flat  roar  and  rattle  of  wheels  ! 

A  swift  tram  floats  huge  on  us  ... 

It's  a  dream  ? 

The  smell  of  the  mud  in  my  nostrils 

Is  brave — like  a  breath  of  the  sea  ! 

As  of  old, 

Ambulant,  undulant  drapery, 
Vaguely  and  strangely  provocative, 
Flutters  and  beckons.    O  yonder — 
Scarlet  !  the  glint  of  a  stocking  ! 
Sudden  a  spire, 

Wedged  in  the  mist  !     O  the  houses, 
The  long  lines  of  lofty,  grey  houses  ! 
Cross-hatched  with  shadow  and  light, 
These  are  the  streets  .  .  . 
Each  is  an  avenue  leading 
Whither  I  will ! 

Free  .  .  .  ! 

Dizzy,  hysterical,  faint, 

I  sit,  and  the  carriage  rolls  on  with  me 

Into  the  wonderful  world. 


W.    E.   HENLEY. 


THE  OLD  INFIRMARY,  EDINBURGH, 
I873-7S. 


152         THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

EDINBURGH  STREETS  BY  NIGHT 

BEAUTIFUL  to  behold  as  the  spacious  streets  of 
Edinburgh  are  by  day,  they  have  a  strange  fasci- 
nation by  night.  Perhaps,  more  than  in  any  other 
city,  the  memories  of  Edinburgh's  romantic  past 
return  to  the  mind  of  one  who  is  a  wanderer  by 
silent  night  or  late  evening,  as  he  threads  this  city's 
almost  deserted  streets  and  squares.  Take  Edin- 
burgh at  what  season  you  will,  thoughts  of  its 
storied  past,  at  such  an  hour,  will  come  crowding 
to  the  mind.  Upon  a  clear,  calm,  wintry  night,  when 
the  moon  is  bright  and  the  stars  glitter  as  they  can 
in  this  northern  sky,  the  beauty  of  the  city  is  most 
inspiring.  At  such  a  time,  while  emerging  from  a 
street  and  to  suddenly  behold  the  lofty  Castle,  a  huge 
black  mass  set  in  a  back-ground  of  a  star-pierced 
purple  sky,  is  to  gaze  upon  a  sight  the  majesty  of 
which  the  world  has  no  equal.  Or,  wander  to  the 
Calton  Hill  when  the  moonlight  plays  between  the 
range  of  columns  on  its  crown  ;  then  the  spell  of  this 
Northern  Athens  is  upon  one  as  he  gazes  down  upon 
the  lamp-hung  city.  I  have  looked  upon  Edinburgh 
in  one  of  her  own  wilder  night  moods  of  drifting  rain, 
when  the  festooned  lights  of  her  streets  dimly  seen 
from  a  distance  have  formed  for  me  a  picture  strangely 
beautiful  and  affecting. 

ROBERT  MACCRIE. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH 


Mine  own  romantic  town. 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 

Scott  is  enthusiastic  about  the  beauties  of  Edinburgh,  and 
well  he  may  be,  the  most  magnificent  as  well  as  the  most 
romantic  of  cities. 

MARIA.    EDGEWORTH. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  HYND  HORN 

Ax  Edinburgh  was  a  young  child  born, 

And  his  name  it  was  called  young  Hynd  Horn. 

Seven  lang  years  he  served  the  King, 
And  it's  a'  for  the  sake  o'  his  dochter  Jean. 

The  King  an  angry  man  was  he, 

He  sent  young  Hynd  Horn  to  the  sea. 

'  Oh,  I  never  saw  my  love  before, 
Till  I  saw  her  thro'  an  augre  bore. 

'  And  she  gave  me  a  gay  gold  ring, 
With  three  shining  diamonds  set  therein. 

'  And  I  gave  to  her  a  silver  wand, 

With  three  singing  laverocks  set  thereon. 

'  What  if  those  diamonds  lose  their  hue, 
Just  when  my  love  begins  for  to  rue  ?' 

'  For  when  your  ring  turns  pale  and  wan, 
Then  I'm  in  love  with  another  man.' 

Hynd  Horn  has  gone  away  to  sea, 

He  has  stayed  there  seven  years  and  a  day. 

Seven  lang  years  he  has  been  on  the  sea, 

And  Hynd  Horn  has  looked  how  this  ring  may  be. 

But  when  he  looked  this  ring  upon. 

The  shining  diamonds  were  pale  and  wan. 


156          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Oh,  the  ring  was  both  black  and  blue, 
And  she's  either  dead  or  she's  married. 

To  Edinburgh  Town  Hynd  Horn  has  come, 
And  the  first  he  met  was  an  auld  beggar- man. 

'  What  news,  what  news  ?  tell  me,  my  man, 
For  it's  seven  years  since  I  have  seen  the  land.' 

'  No  news  at  all,'  said  the  auld  beggar-man, 
'  But  there's  a  wedding  in  the  King's  hall. 

'  But  the  King's  dochter  nae  bride  will  be 
Till  she  hears  tell  o'  her  ain  Hynd  Horn.' 

'  Wilt  thou  give  to  me  thy  begging-coat  ? 
An'  I  gie  thee  my  scarlet  cloak.' 

The  auld  beggar-man  cast  off  his  coat, 
An'  he's  taken  up  the  scarlet  cloak. 

The  auld  beggar-man  was  bound  for  the  mill, 
But  young  Hynd  Horn  for  the  King's  hall. 

When  he  came  to  the  royal  gate, 

He  asked  a  drink  for  young  Hynd  Horn's  sake. 

These  news  unto  the  bonnie  bride  came, 
That  at  the  gate  there  stands  an  auld  man. 

'  There  stands  an  auld  man  at  the  King's  gate, 
He  asketh  a  drink  for  young  Hynd  Horn's  sake.' 

'  I'll  go  me  through  nine  fires  all  so  hot, 
But  I'll  give  him  a  drink  for  young  Hynd  Horn's 
sake.' 

She  went  to  the  gate  where  the  auld  man  stood, 
And  gave  him  a  cup  from  her  own  fair  hand. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        157 

He  took  him  the  cup  from  that  lily  hand, 
And  when  he  had  drank  dropt  in  the  ring. 

'  Got  thou  this  ring  by  sea  or  land  ? 
Or  got  thou  it  from  a  dead  man's  hand  ?' 

'  Not  by  the  sea,  but  by  the  land  ; 
I  took  it  from  thine  own  fair  hand.' 

'  I'll  cast  me  off  my  gowns  o'  brown, 
And  I'll  follow  thee  from  town  to  town. 

'  I'll  cast  me  off  my  gowns  o'  red, 
And  along  with  thee  I'll  beg  my  bread.' 

'  Thou  need  not  cast  off  gowns  o'  brown, 
For  I'll  make  thee  lady  o'  many  a  town.' 

The  bridegroom  thought  he  this  maid  had  wed, 
But  young  Hynd  Horn  took  the  bride  instead. 

TRADITIONAL. 


A  SHEPHERD-SWAIN  OF  THE  NORTH  COUNTRIE 

'  Many  an  eyebrow  in  Auld  Reekie  rose  in  wonder,  and  many 
a  voice  exclaimed  "  Who  can  this  be  ?"  when  verses  so  good  by 
"  J.  B.  Fordoun  "  [James  Beattie,  of  Fordoun]  flashed  upon 
the  public  from  time  to  time.' — GEORGE  GILFILLAN. 

THERE  lived  in  Gothic  days,  as  legends  tell, 
A  shepherd-swain,  a  man  of  low  degree  ; 
Whose  sires,  perchance,  in  Fairyland  might  dwell, 
Sicilian  groves,  or  vales  of  Arcady  ; 
But  he,  I  ween,  was  of  the  north  countrie  ; 
A  nation  famed  for  song  and  beauty's  charms  ; 
Zealous,  yet  modest  ;  innocent,  though  free  ; 
Patient  of  toil ;  serene  amidst  alarms  ; 
Inflexible  in  faith  ;  invincible  in  arms. 


158          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  shepherd-swain  of  whom  I  mention  made, 
On  Scotia's  mountains  fed  his  little  flock  ; 
The  sickle,  scythe,  or  plough  he  never  swayed  : 
An  honest  heart  was  almost  all  his  stock  ; 
His  drink  the  living  water  from  the  rock  : 
The  milky  dams  supplied  his  board,  and  lent 
Their  kindly  fleece  to  baffle  winter's  shock  ; 
And  he,  though  oft  with  dust  and  sweat  besprint, 
Did  guide  and  guard  their  wanderings,  wheresoe'er 
they  went. 

JAMES   BEATTIE. 


MY    BONNIE    MARY 

THE    PIER   O'    LEITH 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

An'  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie  ; 
That  I  may  drink,  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  bonnie  lassie  ; 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith  ; 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  ferry  ; 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonnie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready  ; 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 

The  battle  closes  thick  and  bloody  ! 
But  it's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Wad  make  me  langer  wish  to  tarry  ; 
Nor  shout  o'  war  that's  heard  afar — 

It's  leaving  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary. 

ROBERT  BURNS. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        159 

THE  EVE  OF  FLODDEN 

'  When  the  invading  army  was  encamped  upon  the  Boroughmuir 
numberless  midnight  apparitions  did  squeak  and  gibber  upon 
the  streets  of  Edinburgh,  threatening  woe  to  the  kingdom,  and 
there  was  a  spectral  procession  of  heralds,  who  advanced  to  the 
Cross,  and  summoned  the  king,  and  a  long  list  of  nobility  to  their 
final  doom.' 

WHO  are  these  so  dim  and  wan, 
Haggard,  gaunt,  and  woe-begone  ! 
Who  in  suits  of  silvery  mail 
Wander  in  the  moonlight  pale, 
Through  Dun  Edin's  narrow  street, 

Sad  and  slow, 
And  with  mournful  voice  repeat, 

Singing  low — 

'  Dim  the  night,  but  dark  the  morrow — 
Long  shall  last  the  coming  sorrow, — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

Helm  on  head  and  sword  in  hand, 
Whence  this  melancholy  band  ? 
Even  the  banner  that  they  bear 
Droops  dejected  on  the  air, 
As  they  walk  with  noiseless  tread 

To  and  fro, 
And  the  sleeper  from  his  bed 

Rises  slow, 

Listening  to  that  chant  of  sorrow — 
'  Dim  the  night,  but  dark  the  morrow — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

What  they  are,  and  their  intent — 
Whence  they  come,  and  whither  bent — 
If  they  come  from  kirkyard  cold, 
Or  are  men  of  mortal  mould, 


160          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

No  one  knows  ; — but  all  night  long, 

As  they  go, 
There  is  heard  a  doleful  song, 

Clear,  but  low, — 

1  Deep  the  grief  that's  now  beginning, 
Scotland's  loss  is  England's  winning — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

Never  yet  Dun  Edin's  street 
Saw  such  ghastly  warriors  meet. 
Now  upon  the  Cross  they  stay  ; 
And  a  radiance  clear  as  day, 
When  the  day  is  dim  and  chill, 

Seems  to  glow 
All  around  ;  and  from  the  hill 

Overflow 

Gable,  tower,  and  steeple-crosses, 
And  the  lonely  wynds  and  closes  : — 

'  Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

One  steps  forward  from  the  rest, 
Stately,  gaunt,  and  richly  dress'd  ; 
And  they  form  a  circle  round, 
Sadly  looking  to  the  ground  ; 
And  a  summons  loud  and  shrill 

Sounds  below, 
Downwards  from  the  Calton  Hill 

Passing  slow ; 

Then  a  trumpet-call  to  rally 
Echoes  over  mount  and  valley — 

'  Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

Then  the  ling 'ring  echoes  die 
Faint  and  fainter  on  the  sky, 
And  the  spokesman  of  the  band 
Raises  high  his  mail'd  right  hand, 


And  exclaims  with  earnest  voice, 

Speaking  slow  : 
'  Long  will  Scotland's  foes  rejoice  : — 

Hearts  shall  glow 
At  recital  of  our  story, 
And  of  Scotland's  faded  glory. 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  ! 

'  Nought  shall  bravery  avail  ; 
Dust  before  the  wild  March  gale 
Flies  not  faster  than  shall  fly 
Scotland's  proudest  chivalry, 
Royal  Stuart,  when  thy  might 

Stricken  low, 
Shall  be  scatter 'd  in  the  fight 

By  the  foe, 

And  thy  fairest  ranks  be  trodden 
On  the  bloody  field  of  Flodden. 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  ! 

'  Crawford,  Huntley,  and  Montrose  ! 
Loud  your  shrill  war-trumpet  blows  ; — 
Home  and  Bothwell !  high  in  air 
Flaunt  your  banners  free  and  fair  ; — 
Lennox  !  well  your  stalwart  men 

Wield  the  bow  ; — 
Fierce  and  fleet  from  hill  and  glen 

On  the  foe, 

From  wild  Cowal  to  the  Grampians, 
Rush,  Argyll  !  your  stoutest  champions  ;- 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  ! 

'  But  in  vain  shall  they  unite  ; 
And  in  vain  their  swords  shall  smite  ; 
And  in  vain  their  chiefs  shall  lead  ; 
Vainly,  vainly  shall  they  bleed  ; — 

ii 


162          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

England's  hosts  shall  smite  them  down 

At  a  blow, 
And  our  country's  ancient  crown 

Be  laid  low  ; 

And  for  warriors  death-cold  sleeping 
Long  shall  last  the  wail  and  weeping — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

Thus  he  speaks,  and  glides  away, 
Melting  in  the  moonlight  grey  : 
And  the  pale  knights  follow  on 
Through  the  darkness,  and  are  gone. 
But  all  night  is  heard  the  wail 

Rising  slow, 
As  the  pauses  of  the  gale 

Come  and  go, — 

'  Dim  the  night  and  dark  the  morrow  ; 
Long  shall  last  the  coming  sorrow — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !' 

CHARLES   MACKAY. 
EDINBURGH  AFTER  FLODDEN 

NEWS  of  battle  ! — news  of  battle  ! 

Hark  !  'tis  ringing  down  the  street  : 
And  the  archways  and  the  pavement 

Bear  the  clang  of  hurrying  feet. 
News  of  battle  !  who  hath  brought  it  ? 

News  of  triumph  ?     Who  should  bring 
Tidings  from  our  noble  army, 

Greetings  from  our  gallant  King  ? 
All  last  night  we  watched  the  beacons 

Blazing  on  the  hills  afar, 
Each  one  bearing,  as  it  kindled, 

Message  of  the  opened  war. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        163 

All  night  long  the  northern  streamers 

Shot  across  the  trembling  sky  : 
Fearful  lights,  that  never  beckon 

Save  when  kings  or  heroes  die. 

News  of  battle  !     Who  hath  brought  it  ? 

All  are  thronging  to  the  gate  ; 
'  Warder — warder  !  open  quickly  ! 

Man — is  this  a  time  to  wait  ?' 
And  the  heavy  gates  are  opened  : 

Then  a  murmur  long  and  loud, 
And  a  cry  of  fear  and  wonder 

Bursts  from  out  the  bending  crowd. 
For  they  see  in  battered  harness 

Only  one  hard-stricken  man  ; 
And  his  weary  steed  is  wounded, 

And  his  cheek  is  pale  and  wan  : 
Spearless  hangs  a  bloody  banner 

In  his  weak  and  drooping  hand — 
God  !  can  that  be  Randolph  Murray, 

Captain  of  the  city  band  ? 

Round  him  crush  the  people,  crying, 

'  Tell  us  all — oh,  tell  us  true  ! 
Where  are  they  who  went  to  battle, 

Randolph  Murray,  sworn  to  you  ? 
Where  are  they,  our  brothers — children  ? 

Have  they  met  the  English  foe  ? 
Why  art  thou  alone,  unf  olio  wed  ? 

Is  it  weal  or  is  it  woe  ?' 
Like  a  corpse  the  grisly  warrior 

Looks  from  out  his  helm  of  steel ; 
But  no  word  he  speaks  in  answer, 

Only  with  his  armed  heel 

II— 2 


164          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Chides  his  weary  steed,  and  onward 

Up  the  city  streets  they  ride  ; 
Fathers,  sisters,  mothers,  children, 

Shrieking,  praying  by  his  side. 
'  By  the  God  that  made  thee,  Randolph  ! 

Tell  us  what  mischance  hath  come.' 
Then  he  lifts  his  riven  banner, 

And  the  asker's  voice  is  dumb. 

The  elders  of  the  city 

Have  met  within  their  hall — 
The    men    whom     good     King    James    had 
charged 

To  watch  the  tower  and  wall. 
'  Your  hands  are  weak  with  age/  he  said, 

'  Your  hearts  are  stout  and  true  ; 
So  bide  ye  in  the  Maiden  Town, 

While  others  fight  for  you. 
My  trumpet  from  the  Border-side 

Shall  send  a  blast  so  clear 
That  all  who  wait  within  the  gate 

That  stirring  sound  may  hear. 
Or,  if  it  be  the  will  of  heaven 

That  back  I  never  come, 
And  if,  instead  of  Scottish  shouts, 

Ye  hear  the  English  drum, — 
Then  let  the  warning  bells  ring  out, 

Then  gird  you  to  the  fray, 
Then  man  the  walls  like  burghers  stout, 

And  fight  while  fight  you  may. 
'Twere  better  than  in  fiery  flame 

The  roofs  should  thunder  down, 
Than  that  the  foot  of  foreign  foe 

Should  trample  in  the  town  !' 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        165 

Then  in  came  Randolph  Murray, — 

His  step  was  slow  and  weak, 
And,  as  he  doffed  his  dinted  helm, 

The  tears  ran  down  his  cheek  : 
They  fell  upon  his  corselet 

And  on  his  mailed  hand, 
As  he  gazed  around  him  wistfully, 

Leaning  sorely  on  his  brand. 
And  none  who  then  beheld  him 

But  straight  were  smote  with  fear, 
For  a  bolder  and  a  sterner  man 

Had  never  couched  a  spear. 
They  knew  so  sad  a  messenger 

Some  ghastly  news  must  bring  ; 
And  all  of  them  were  fathers, 

And  their  sons  were  with  the  King. 

And  up  then  rose  the  Provost — 

A  brave  old  man  was  he, 
Of  ancient  name  and  knightly  fame, 

And  chivalrous  degree. 
He  ruled  our  city  like  a  Lord 

Who  brooked  no  equal  here, 
And  ever  for  the  townsman's  rights 

Stood  up  'gainst  prince  and  peer. 
And  he  had  seen  the  Scottish  host 

March  from  the  Borough-muir, 
With  music-storm  and  clamorous  shout, 
And  all  the  din  that  thunders  out 

When  youth's  of  victory  sure. 
But  yet  a  dearer  thought  had  he, — 

For,  with  a  father's  pride, 
He  saw  his  last  remaining  son 

Go  forth  by  Randolph's  side, 


i66          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

With  casque  on  head  and  spur  on  heel, 

All  keen  to  do  and  dare  ; 
And  proudly  did  that  gallant  boy 

Dun  Edin's  banner  bear. 
Oh  !  woeful  now  was  the  old  man's  look, 

And  he  spake  right  heavily — 
'  Now,  Randolph,  tell  thy  tidings, 

However  sharp  they  be  ! 
Woe  is  written  on  thy  visage, 

Death  is  looking  from  thy  face  : 
Speak  !  though  it  be  of  overthrow — 

It  cannot  be  disgrace  !' 

Right  bitter  was  the  agony 

That  wrung  that  soldier  proud  : 
Thrice  did  he  strive  to  answer, 

And  thrice  he  groaned  aloud. 
Then  he  gave  the  riven  banner 

To  the  old  man's  shaking  hand, 
vSaying — '  That  is  all  I  bring  ye 

From  the  bravest  of  the  land  ! 
Ay  !  ye  may  look  upon  it — 

It  was  guarded  well  and  long, 
By  your  brothers  and  your  children, 

By  the  valiant  and  the  strong. 
One  by  one  they  fell  around  it, 

As  the  archers  laid  them  low, 
Grimly  dying,  still  unconquered, 

With  their  faces  to  the  foe. 
Ay  !  ye  may  well  look  upon  it — 

There  is  more  than  honour  there, 
Else,  be  sure,  I  had  not  brought  it 

From  the  field  of  dark  despair. 
Never  yet  was  royal  banner 

Steeped  in  such  a  costly  dye  ; 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        167 

It  hath  lain  upon  a  bosom 

Where  no  other  shroud  shall  lie. 
Sirs  !  I  charge  you,  keep  it  holy, 

Keep  it  as  a  sacred  thing, 
For  the  stain  ye  see  upon  it 

Was  the  life-blood  of  your  King  !' 

Woe,  woe,  and  lamentation  ! 

What  a  piteous  cry  was  there  ! 
Widows,  maidens,  mothers,  children, 

Shrieking,  sobbing  in  despair  ! 
Through  the  streets  the  death-word  rushes, 

Spreading  terror,  sweeping  on — 
'  Jesu  Christ !    Our  King  has  fallen — 

O  great  God,  King  James  is  gone  ! 
Holy  Mother  Mary,  shield  us, 

Thou  who  erst  didst  lose  thy  Son  ! 
O  the  blackest  day  for  Scotland 

That  she  ever  knew  before  ! 
O  our  King — the  good,  the  noble, 

Shall  we  see  him  never  more  ? 
Woe  to  us,  and  woe  to  Scotland  ! 

O  our  sons,  our  sons  and  men  ! 
Surely  some  have  'scaped  the  Southron, 

Surely  some  will  come  again  !' 
Till  the  oak  that  fell  last  winter 

Shall  uprear  its  shattered  stem — 
Wives  and  mothers  of  Dun  Edin — 

Ye  may  look  in  vain  for  them  ! 

But  within  the  Council  Chamber 

All  was  silent  as  the  grave, 
Whilst  the  tempest  of  their  sorrow 

Shook  the  bosoms  of  the  brave. 
Well  indeed  might  they  be  shaken 

With  the  weight  of  such  a  blow  : 


168          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

He  was  gone, — their  prince,  their  idol, 

Whom  they  loved  and  worshipped  so  ! 
Like  a  knell  of  death  and  judgment 

Rung  from  heaven  by  angel  hand 
Fell  the  words  of  desolation 

On  the  elders  of  the  land. 
Hoary  heads  were  bowed  and  trembling, 

Withered  hands  were  clasped  and  wrung  ; 
God  had  left  the  old  and  feeble, 

He  had  ta'en  away  the  young. 

Then  the  Provost  he  uprose, 

And  his  lip  was  ashen  white  ; 
But  a  flush  was  on  his  brow, 

And  his  eye  was  full  of  light. 
'  Thou  hast  spoken,  Randolph  Murray, 

Like  a  soldier  stout  and  true  ; 
Thou  hast  done  a  deed  of  daring 

Had  been  perilled  but  by  few. 
For  thou  hast  not  shamed  to  face  us, 

Nor  to  speak  thy  ghastly  tale, 
Standing — thou  a  knight  and  captain, — 

Here  alive  within  thy  mail ! 
Now,  as  my  God  shall  judge  me, 

,  I  hold  it  braver  done, 
Than  hadst  thou  tarried  in  thy  place, 

And  died  above  my  son  ! 
Thou  needst  not  tell  it  :  he  is  dead. 

God  help  us  all  this  day  ! 
But  speak — how  fought  the  citizens 

Within  the  furious  fray  ? 
For,  by  the  might  of  Mary  ! 

'Twere  something  still  to  tell 
That  no  Scottish  foot  went  backward 

When  the  Royal  Lion  fell !' 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        169 

'  No  one  failed  him  !     He  is  keeping 

Royal  state  and  semblance  still ; 
Knight  and  noble  lie  around  him, 

Cold  on  Flodden's  fatal  hill. 
Of  the  brave  and  gallant-hearted 

Whom  ye  sent  with  prayers  away, 
Not  a  single  man  departed 

From  his  Monarch  yesterday. 
Had  you  seen  them,  O  my  masters  ! 

When  the  night  began  to  fall, 
And  the  English  spearmen  gathered 

Round  a  grim  and  ghastly  wall ! 
As  the  wolves  in  winter  circle 

Round  the  leaguer  on  the  heath, 
So  the  greedy  foe  glared  upward, 

Panting  still  for  blood  and  death. 
But  a  rampart  rose  before  them, 

Which  the  boldest  dared  not  scale  ; 
Every  stone  a  Scottish  body, 

Every  step  a  corpse  in  mail  ! 
And  behind  it  lay  our  Monarch, 

Clenching  still  his  shivered  sword  : 
By  his  side  Montrose  and  Athole, 

At  his  feet  a  southron  lord. 
All  so  thick  they  lay  together, 

When  the  stars  lit  up  the  sky, 
That  I  knew  not  who  were  stricken, 

Or  who  yet  remained  to  die. 
Few  there  were  when  Surrey  halted, 

And  his  wearied  host  withdrew  ; 
None  but  dying  men  around  me, 

When  the  English  trumpet  blew. 
Then  I  stooped,  and  took  the  banner, 

As  you  see  it,  from  his  breast, 


170         THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

And  I  closed  our  hero's  eyelids, 

And  I  left  him  to  his  rest. 
In  the  mountains  growled  the  thunder, 

As  I  leaped  the  woeful  wall, 
And  the  heavy  clouds  were  settling 

Over  Flodden,  like  a  pall !' 

So  he  ended,  and  the  others 

Cared  not  any  answer  then  ; 
Sitting  silent,  dumb  with  sorrow, 

Sitting  anguish-struck  like  men, 
Who  have  seen  the  roaring  torrent 

Sweep  their  happy  homes  away, 
And  yet  linger  by  the  margin, 

Staring  idly  on  the  spray. 
But,  without,  the  maddening  tumult 

Waxes  ever  more  and  more, 
And  the  crowd  of  wailing  women 

Gather  round  the  council  door. 
Every  dusky  spire  is  ringing 

With  a  dull  and  hollow  knell, 
And  the  Miserere's  singing 

To  the  tolling  of  the  bell. 
Through  the  streets  the  burghers  hurry, 

Spreading  terror  as  they  go  ; 
And  the  rampart's  thronged  with  watchers 

For  the  coming  of  the  foe. 
From  each  mountain-top  a  pillar 

Streams  into  the  torpid  air, 
Bearing  token  from  the  Border 

That  the  English  host  is  there. 
All  without  is  flight  and  terror, 

All  within  is  woe  and  fear — 
God  protect  the  Maiden  City, 

For  thy  latest  hour  is  near  ! 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        171 

No  !  not  yet,  thou  high  Dun  Edin  ! 

Shalt  thou  totter  to  thy  fall ; 
Though  thy  bravest  and  thy  strongest 

Are  not  there  to  man  the  wall. 
No,  not  yet  !  the  ancient  spirit 

Of  our  fathers  hath  not  gone  ; 
Take  it  to  thee  as  a  buckler 

Better  far  than  steel  or  stone. 
Oh,  remember  those  who  perished 

For  thy  birthright  at  the  time 
When  to  be  a  Scot  was  treason, 

And  to  side  with  Wallace,  crime  ! 
Have  they  not  a  voice  amongst  us, 

Whilst  their  hallowed  dust  is  here  ? 
Hear  ye  not  a  summons  sounding 

From  each  buried  warrior's  bier  ? 
Up  ! — they  say — and  keep  the  freedom 

Which  we  won  you  long  ago  : 
Up  !  and  keep  our  graves  unsullied 

From  the  insults  of  the  foe  ! 
Up  !  and  if  ye  cannot  save  them, 

Come  to  us  in  blood  and  fire  : 
Midst  the  crash  of  falling  turrets, 

Let  the  last  of  Scots  expire  ! 

Still  the  bells  are  tolling  fiercely, 

And  the  cry  comes  louder  in  ; 
Mothers  wailing  for  their  children, 

Sisters  for  their  slaughtered  kin. 
All  is  terror  and  disorder, 

Till  the  Provost  rises  up, 
Calm,  as  though  he  had  not  tasted 

Of  the  fell  and  bitter  cup. 
All  so  stately  from  his  sorrow, 


172          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Rose  the  old  undaunted  chief, 
That  you  had  not  deemed,  to  see  him, 

His  was  more  than  common  grief. 
'  Rouse  ye,  Sirs  !'  he  said  ;  '  we  may  not 

Longer  mourn  for  what  is  done  ; 
If  our  King  be  taken  from  us, 

We  are  left  to  guard  his  son. 
We  have  sworn  to  keep  the  city 

From  the  foe,  whate'er  they  be, 
And  the  oath  that  we  have  taken 

Never  shall  be  broke  by  me. 
Death  is  nearer  to  us,  brethren, 

Than  it  seemed  to  those  who  died, 
Fighting  yesterday  at  Flodden, 

By  their  lord  and  master's  side. 
Let  us  meet  it  then  in  patience, 

Not  in  terror  or  in  fear  ; 
Though  our  hearts  are  bleeding  yonder, 

Let  our  souls  be  steadfast  here. 
Up,  and  rouse  ye  !    Time  is  fleeting, 

And  we  yet  have  much  to  do  ; 
Up  !  and  haste  ye  through  the  city, 

Stir  the  burghers  stout  and  true  ! 
Gather  all  our  scattered  people, 

Fling  the  banner  out  once  more, — 
Randolph  Murray  !  do  thou  bear  it, 

As  it  erst  was  borne  before  : 
Never  Scottish  heart  will  leave  it, 

When  they  see  their  Monarch's  gore  ! 

'  Let  them  cease  that  dismal  knelling  ! 

It  is  time  enough  to  ring 
When  the  fortress-strength  of  Scotland 

Stoops  to  ruin  like  its  King. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        173 

Let  the  bells  be  kept  for  warning, 

Not  for  terror  or  alarm  ; 
When  they  next  are  heard  to  thunder, 

Let  each  man  and  stripling  arm. 
Bid  the  women  leave  their  wailing — 

Do  they  think  that  woeful  strain, 
From  the  bloody  heaps  of  Flodden, 

Can  redeem  their  dearest  slain  ? 
Bid  them  cease, — or  rather  hasten 

To  the  churches,  every  one  ; 
There  to  pray  to  Mary  Mother, 

And  to  her  anointed  Son, 
That  the  thunderbolt  above  us 

May  not  fall  in  ruin  yet ; 
That  in  fire,  and  blood,  and  rapine, 

Scotland's  glory  may  not  set. 
Let  them  pray, — for  never  women 

Stood  in  need  of  such  a  prayer  ! — 
England's  yeomen  shall  not  find  them 

Clinging  to  the  altars  there. 
No  !  if  we  are  doomed  to  perish, 

Man  and  maiden,  let  us  fall, 
And  a  common  gulf  of  ruin 

Open  wide  to  whelm  us  all : 
Never  shall  the  ruthless  spoiler 

Lay  his  hot  insulting  hand 
On  the  sisters  of  our  heroes, 

Whilst  we  bear  a  torch  or  brand  ! 
Up  !  and  rouse  ye,  then,  my  brothers, — 

But  when  next  ye  hear  the  bell 
Sounding  forth  the  sullen  summons 

That  may  be  our  funeral  knell, 
Once  more  let  us  meet  together, 

Once  more  see  each  other's  face  ; 


174          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Then,  like  men  that  need  not  tremble, 

Go  to  our  appointed  place. 
God,  our  Father,  will  not  fail  us 

In  that  last  tremendous  hour, — 
If  all  other  bulwarks  crumble, 

HE  will  be  our  strength  and  tower  : 
Though  the  ramparts  rock  beneath  us, 

And  the  walls  go  crashing  down, 
Though  the  roar  of  conflagration 

Bellow  o'er  the  sinking  town  ; 
There  is  yet  one  place  of  shelter, 

Where  the  foemen  cannot  come, 
Where  the  summons  never  sounded 

Of  the  trumpet  or  the  drum. 
There  again  we'll  meet  our  children, 

Who,  on  Flodden's  trampled  sod, 
For  their  King  and  for  their  country 

Rendered  up  their  souls  to  God. 
There  shall  we  find  rest  and  refuge,      • 

With  our  dear  departed  brave  ; 
And  the  ashes  of  the  city 

Be  our  universal  grave  !' 

WILLIAM   EDMONDSTOUNE    AYTOUN. 


MARIA  EDGEWORTH  VISITS  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 
IN  EDINBURGH 

WRITTEN  TO  MRS.  RUXTON 

EDINBURGH, 

32,  ABERCOMBY  PLACE, 

June  8,   1823. 

THE  drive  from  Linlithgow  to  Edinburgh  is  nothing 
extraordinary,  but  the  road  approaching  the  city  is 
grand,  and  the  first  view  of  the  Castle  and  '  mine 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        175 

own  romantic  town  '  delighted  my  companions  ;  the 
day  was  fine,  and  they  were  sitting  outside  on  the 
barouche  seat  —  a  seat  which  you,  my  dear  aunt, 
would  have  envied  them  with  all  their  fine  prospects. 
By  this  approach  to  Edinburgh  there  are  no  suburbs  ; 
you  drive  at  once  through  magnificent  broad  streets 
and  fine  squares.  All  the  houses  are  of  stone,  darker 
than  the  Ardbraccan  stone,  and  of  a  kind  that  is 
little  injured  by  weather  or  time.  Margaret  Alison 
had  taken  lodgings  for  us  in  Abercomby  Place  — 
finely  built,  with  hanging  shrubbery  garden,  and  the 
house  as  delightful  as  the  situation.  As  soon  as  we 
unpacked  and  arranged  our  things  the  evening  of 
our  arrival,  we  walked,  about  ten  minutes'  distance 
from  us,  to  our  dear  old  friends,  the  Alisons.  We 
found  them  shawled  and  bonneted,  just  coming  to 
see  us.  Mr.  Alison  and  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  settled 
that  we  should  dine  the  first  day  after  our  arrival 
with  Mr.  Alison,  which  was  just  what  we  wished  ;  but 
on  our  return  home  we  found  a  note  from  Sir  Walter  : 


Miss  EDGEWORTH, 
'  I  have  just  received  your  kind  note,  just 
when  I  had  persuaded  myself  it  was  most  likely  I 
should  see  you  in  person  or  hear  of  your  arrival. 
Mr.  Alison  writes  to  me  you  are  engaged  to  dine  with 
him  to-morrow,  which  puts  Roslin  out  of  the  question 
for  that  day,  as  it  might  keep  you  late.  On  Sunday 
I  hope  you  will  join  our  family-party  at  five,  and  on 
Monday  I  have  asked  one  or  two  of  the  Northern 
Lights  on  purpose  to  meet  you.  I  should  be  engross- 
ing at  any  time,  but  we  shall  be  more  disposed  to  be 
so  just  now,  because  on  the  I2th  I  am  under  the 
necessity  of  going  to  a  different  kingdom  (only  the 


176          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

kingdom  of  Fife)  for  a  day  or  two.  To-morrow,  if 
it  is  quite  agreeable,  I  will  wait  on  you  about  twelve, 
and  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  show  you  some  of 
our  improvements. 

'  I  am  always, 

'  Most  respectfully  yours, 
'  EDINBURGH,  Friday.  '  WALTER  SCOTT. 

'  Postscript. — Our  old  family  coach  is  licensed  to 
carry  six  ;  so  I  take  no  care  on  that  score.  I  enclose 
Mr.  Alison's  note  ;  truly  sorry  I  could  not  accept 
the  invitation  it  contains. 

'  Postscript. — My  wife  insists  I  shall  add  that  the 
Laird  of  Staffa  promised  to  look  in  on  us  this  evening 
at  eight  or  nine,  for  the  purpose  of  letting  us  hear 
one  of  his  clansmen  sing  some  Highland  boat-songs 
and  the  like,  and  that  if  you  will  come,  as  the  Irish 
should  to  the  Scotch,  without  any  ceremony,  you 
will  hear  what  is  perhaps  more  curious  than  melli- 
fluous. The  man  returns  to  the  isles  to-morrow. 
There  are  no  strangers  with  us  ;  no  party  ;  none  but 
all  our  own  family  and  two  old  friends.  Moreover, 
all  our  women-kind  have  been  calling  at  Gibbs's 
hotel,  so  if  you  are  not  really  tired  and  late,  you  have 
not  even  pride,  the  ladies'  last  defence,  to  oppose  to 
this  request.  But,  above  all,  do  not  fatigue  yourself 
and  the  young  ladies.  No  dressing  to  be  thought  of.' 

Ten  o'clock  struck  as  I  read  the  note  ;  we  were 
tired — we  were  not  fit  to  be  seen  ;  but  I  thought  it 
right  to  accept  '  Walter  Scott's  '  cordial  invitation  ; 
sent  for  a  hackney  coach,  and  just  as  we  were,  without 
dressing,  went.  As  the  coach  stopped,  we  saw  the 
hall  lighted,  and  the  moment  the  door  opened,  heard 
the  joyous  sounds  of  loud  singing.  Three  servants — 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        177 

'  The  Miss  Edge  worths  '  sounded  from  hall  to  landing- 
place,  and  as  I  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  ante- 
room, I  heard  the  first  sound  of  Walter  Scott's  voice — 
'  The  Miss  Edgeworths  come.' 

The  room  was  lighted  by  only  one  globe  lamp.  A 
circle  were  singing  loud  and  beating  time — all 
stopped  in  an  instant,  and  Walter  Scott  in  the  most 
cordial  and  courteous  manner  stepped  forward  to 
welcome  us  :  '  Miss  Edgeworth,  this  is  so  kind  of 
you  !'  My  first  impression  was,  that  he  was  neither 
so  large,  nor  so  heavy  in  appearance  as  I  had  been 
led  to  expect  by  description,  prints,  bust,  and  pic- 
ture. He  is  more  lame  than  I  expected,  but  not  so 
unwieldly  ;  his  countenance,  even  by  the  uncertain 
light  in  which  I  first  saw  it,  pleased  me  much,  benevo- 
lent, and  full  of  genius  without  the  slightest  effort 
at  expression  ;  delightfully  natural,  as  if  he  did  not 
know  he  was  Walter  Scott  or  the  Great  Unknown  of 
the  North,  as  if  he  only  thought  of  making  others 
happy.  After  naming  to  us  '  Lady  Scott,  Staffa,  my 
daughter  Lockhart,  Sophia,  another  daughter  Anne, 
my  son,  my  son-in-law  Lockhart,'  just  in  the  broken 
circle  as  they  then  stood,  and  showing  me  that  only 
his  family  and  two  friends,  Mr.  Clark  and  Mr.  Sharpe, 
were  present,  he  sat  down  for  a  minute  beside  me  on 
a  low  sofa,  and  on  my  saying,  '  Do  not  let  us  interrupt 
what  was  going  on,'  he  immediately  rose  and  begged 
Staffa  to  bid  his  boatman  strike  up  again.  '  Will 
you  then  join  in  the  circle  with  us  ?'  he  put  the  end 
of  a  silk  handkerchief  into  my  hand,  and  others  into 
my  sister's  ;  they  held  by  these  handkerchiefs  all  in 
their  circle  again,  and  the  boatman  began  to  roar 
out  a  Gaelic  song,  to  which  they  all  stamped  in 
time  and  repeated  the  chorus  which,  as  far  as  I  could 

12 


178          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

hear,  sounded  like  '  At  am  Vaun  !  At  am  Vaun  /' 
frequently  repeated  with  prodigious  enthusiasm.  In 
another  I  could  make  out  no  intelligible  sound  but 
'  Bar  !  bar  !  bar  !'  But  the  boatman's  dark  eyes 
were  ready  to  start  out  of  his  head  with  rapture  as 
he  sung  and  stamped,  and  shook  the  handkerchief  on 
each  side,  and  the  circle  imitated. 

Lady  Scott  is  so  exactly  what  I  had  heard  her 
described,  that  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  seen  her  before. 
She  must  have  been  very  handsome — French  dark 
large  eyes ;  civil  and  good  -  natured.  Supper  at 
a  round  table,  a  family  supper,  with  attention  to 
us  just  sufficient  and  no  more.  The  impression 
left  on  my  mind  this  night  was,  that  Walter  Scott  is 
one  of  the  best-bred  men  I  ever  saw,  with  all  the 
exquisite  politeness  which  he  knows  so  well  how  to 
describe,  which  is  of  no  particular  school  or  country, 
but  which  is  of  all  countries,  the  politeness  which 
arises  from  good  and  quick  sense  and  feeling,  which 
seems  to  know  by  instinct  the  character  of  others,  to 
see  what  will  please,  and  put  all  his  guests  at  their 
ease.  As  I  sat  beside  him  at  supper,  I  could  not 
believe  he  was  a  stranger,  and  forgot  he  was  a  great 
man.  Mr.  Lockhart  is  very  handsome,  quite  unlike 
his  picture  in  Peter's  Letters. 

When  we  wakened  in  the  morning,  the  whole 
scene  of  the  preceding  night  seemed  like  a  dream  ; 
however,  at  twelve  came  the  real  Lady  Scott,  and  we 
called  for  Scott  at  the  Parliament  House,  who  came 
out  of  the  Courts  with  joyous  face  as  if  he  had 
nothing  on  earth  to  do  or  to  think  of,  but  to  show  us 
Edinburgh.  Seeming  to  enjoy  it  all  as  much  as  we 
could,  he  carried  us  to  Parliament  House — Advo- 
cates' Library,  Castle,  and  Holyrood  House.  His 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        179 

conversation  all  the  time  better  than  anything  we 
could  see,  full  of  a-propos  anecdotes,  historic,  serious, 
or  comic,  just  as  occasion  called  for  it,  and  all  with 
a  bonhomie  and  an  ease  that  made  us  forget  it  was 
any  trouble  even  to  his  lameness  to  mount  flights  of 
eternal  stairs.  Chantrey's  statues  of  Lord  Melville 
and  President  Blair  are  admirable.  There  is  another 
by  Roubillac,  of  Duncan  Forbes,  which  is  excellent. 
Scott  is  enthusiastic  about  the  beauties  of  Edinburgh, 
and  well  he  may  be,  the  most  magnificent  as  well  as 
the  most  romantic  of  cities.  .  .  . 

Next  day,  Sunday,  went  to  hear  Mr.  Alison  ;  his 
fine  voice  but  little  altered.  To  me  he  appears  the 
best  preacher  I  have  ever  heard.  Dined  at  Scott's  ; 
only  his  own  family,  his  friend  Skene,  his.  wife  and 
daughter,  and  Sir  Henry  Stewart ;  I  sat  beside  Scott ; 
I  dare  not  attempt  at  this  moment  even  to  think  of 
any  of  the  anecdotes  he  told,  the  fragments  of  poetry 
he  repeated,  or  the  observations  on  national  char- 
acter he  made,  lest  I  should  be  tempted  to  write 
some  of  them  for  you,  and  should  never  end  this  letter, 
which  must  be  ended  some  time  or  other.  His  strong 
affection  for  his  early  friends  and  his  country  gives  a 
power  and  a  charm  to  his  conversation,  which  can- 
not be  given  by  the  polish  of  the  London  world  and 
by  the  habit  of  literary  conversation. 

Quentin  Durward  was  lying  on  the  table.  Mrs. 
Skene  took  it  up  and  said,  '  This  is  really  too  bare- 
faced.' Scott,  when  pointing  to  the  hospital  built 
by  Heriot,  said,  '  That  was  built  by  one  Heriot,  you 
know,,  the  jeweller,  in  Charles  the  Second's  time.' 

There  was  an  arch  simplicity  in  his  look,  at  which 
we  could  hardly  forbear  laughing. 

Life  and  Letters  of  Maria  Edge-worth. 

12 — 2 


i8o          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

DR.  JOHNSON  IN  EDINBURGH 

ON  Saturday  the  fourteenth  of  August,  1773,  late 
in  the  evening,  I  received  a  note  from  him,  that  he 
[Dr.  Johnson]  was  arrived  at  Boyd's  inn,  at  the  head 
of  the  Canongate.  I  went  to  him  directly.  He  em- 
braced me  cordially  ;  and  I  exulted  in  the  thought, 
that  I  now  had  him  actually  in  Caledonia.  Mr. 
Scott's  amiable  manners,  and  attachment  to  our 
Socrates,  at  once  united  me  to  him.  He  told  me 
that,  before  I  came  in,  the  doctor  had  unluckily  had 
a  bad  specimen  of  Scottish  cleanliness.  He  then 
drank  no  fermented  liquor.  He  asked  to  have  his 
lemonade  made  sweeter  ;  upon  which  the  waiter, 
with  his  greasy  fingers,  lifted  a  lump  of  sugar,  and 
put  it  into  it.  The  doctor,  in  indignation,  threw  it 
out  of  the  window.  Scott  said,  he  was  afraid  he 
would  have  knocked  the  waiter  down.  Mr.  Johnson 
told  me,  that  such  another  trick  was  played  him  at 
the  house  of  a  lady  in  Paris.  He  was  to  do  me  the 
honour  to  lodge  under  my  roof.  I  regretted  sin- 
cerely that  I  had  not  also  a  room  for  Mr.  Scott.  Mr. 
Johnson  and  I  walked  arm-in-arm  up  the  High 
Street,  to  my  house  in  James's  Court.  As  we 
marched  slowly  along  ...  he  acknowledged  that  the 
breadth  of  the  street,  and  the  loftiness  of  the  buildings 
on  each  side,  made  a  noble  appearance. 

My  wife  had  tea  ready  for  him,  which  it  is  well  known 
he  delighted  to  drink  at  all  hours,  particularly  when 
sitting  up  late,  and  of  which  his  able  defence  against 
Mr.  Jonas  Hanway  should  have  obtained  him  a 
magnificent  reward  from  the  East  India  Company. 
He  showed  much  complacency,  upon  finding  that  the 
mistress  of  the  house  was  so  attentive  to  his  singular 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        181 

habit ;  and  as  no  man  could  be  more  polite  when  he 
chose  to  be  so,  his  address  to  her  was  most  courteous 
and  engaging  ;  and  his  conversation  soon  charmed 
her  into  a  forget  fulness  of  his  external  appearance. 
.  .  .  We  sat  till  nearly  two  in  the  morning,  having 
chatted  a  good  while  after  my  wife  left  us.  She 
had  insisted,  that  to  show  all  respect  to  the  sage,  she 
would  give  up  her  own  bed-chamber  to  him  and  take 
a  worse.  This  I  cannot  but  gratefully  mention,  as 
one  of  a  thousand  obligations  which  I  owe  her,  since 
the  great  obligation  of  her  being  pleased  to  accept 
of  me  as  her  husband.  .  .  . 

We  walked  out,  that  Dr.  Johnson  might  see  some 
of  the  things  which  we  have  to  show  at  Edinburgh. 
We  went  to  the  Parliament  House,  where  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Scotland  sat,  and  where  the  Ordinary  Lords 
of  Session  held  their  courts  ;  and  to  the  New  Session 
House  adjoining  to  it,  where  our  Court  of  Fifteen 
(the  fourteen  Ordinaries,  with  the  Lord  President  at 
their  head)  sit  as  a  Court  of  Review.  We  went  to 
the  Advocates'  Library,  of  which  Dr.  Johnson  took 
a  cursory  view,  and  then  to  what  is  called  the  Laigh 
(or  under)  Parliament  House,  where  the  records  of 
Scotland,  which  has  an  universal  security  by  register, 
are  deposited,  till  the  great  Register  Court  be  finished. 
I  loved  to  behold  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  rolling  about 
in  this  old  magazine  of  antiquities.  There  was,  by 
this  time,  a  pretty  numerous  circle  of  us  attending 
upon  him.  Somebody  talked  of  happy  moments  for 
composition  ;  and  how  a  man  can  write  at  one  time, 
and  not  another.  '  Nay  (said  Dr.  Johnson),  a  man  may 
write  at  any  time,  if  he  will  set  himself  doggedly  to  it.' 

I  there  began  to  indulge  old  Scottish  sentiments, 
and  to  express  a  warm  regret,  that,  by  our  Union 


i82          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

with  England,  we  were  no  more  ; — our  independent 
kingdom  was  lost.  JOHNSON.  '  Sir,  never  talk  of 
your  independency,  who  could  let  your  Queen  remain 
twenty  years  in  captivity,  and  then  be  put  to  death, 
without  even  a  pretence  of  justice,  without  ever 
attempting  to  rescue  her  ;  and  such  a  Queen  too  !  as 
every  man  of  any  gallantry  of  spirit  would  have 
sacrificed  his  life  for.'  Worthy  MR.  JAMES  KERR, 
Keeper  of  the  Records.  '  Half  our  nation  was  bribed 
by  English  money.'  JOHNSON.  '  Sir,  that  is  no  de- 
fence. That  makes  you  worse.'  Good  MR.  BROWN, 
Keeper  of  the  Advocates'  Library.  *•  We  had  better 
say  nothing  about  it.'  BOSWELL.  '  You  would  have 
been  glad,  however,  to  have  had  us  last  war,  Sir,  to 
fight  your  battles  !'  JOHNSON.  '  We  should  have  had 
you  for  the  same  price,  though  there  has  been  no 
Union,  as  we  might  have  had  Swiss,  or  other  troops. 
No,  no,  I  shall  agree  to  a  separation.  You  have 
only  to  go  home.'  Just  as  he  had  said  this,  I,  to 
divert  the  subject,  shewed  him  the  signed  assurances 
of  the  three  successive  Kings  of  the  Hanover  family,  to 
maintain  the  Presbyterian  establishment  in  Scotland. 
— :'  We'll  give  you  that  into  the  bargain,'  said  he. 

We  next  went  to  the  great  church  of  St.  Giles, 
which  had  lost  its  original  magnificence  in  the  in- 
side, by  being  divided  into  four  places  of  Presby- 
terian worship.  '  Come  (said  Dr.  Johnson  jocularly 
to  Principal  Robertson),  let  me  see  what  was  once  a 
church  !'  We  entered  that  division  which  was  for- 
merly called  the  New  Church,  and  of  late  the  High 
Church,  so  well  known  by  the  eloquence  of  Dr.  Hugh 
Blair.  It  is  now  very  elegantly  filled  up  ;  but  it 
was  then  shamefully  dirty.  Dr.  Johnson  said  nothing 
at  the  time  ;  but  when  we  came  to  the  great  door  of 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        183 

the  Royal  Infirmary,  where,  upon  a  board,  was  this 
inscription,  '  Clean  your  feet  f  he  turned  about  slyly, 
and  said,  '  There  is  no  occasion  for  putting  this  at 
the  doors  of  your  churches  !' 

We  then  conducted  him  down  the  Post-house 
stairs,  Parliament  Close,  and  made  him  look  up  from 
Cowgate  to  the  highest  building  in  Edinburgh  (from 
which  he  had  just  descended),  being  thirteen  floors 
or  stories  from  the  ground  upon  the  back  elevation. . . . 

We  showed  him  the  Royal  Infirmary,  for  which, 
and  for  every  other  exertion  of  generous  public 
spirit  in  his  power,  that  noble-minded  citizen  of 
Edinburgh,  George  Drummond,  will  be  ever  held  in 
honourable  remembrance.  And  we  were  too  proud 
not  to  carry  him  to  the  Abbey  of  Holyrood-house, 
that  beautiful  piece  of  architecture,  but,  alas  !  that 
deserted  mansion  of  royalty,  which  Hamilton  of 
Bangour,  in  one  of  his  elegant  poems,  calls 

'  A  virtuous  palace,  where  no  monarch  dwells.' 

I  was  much  entertained  while  Principal  Robertson 
fluently  harangued  to  Dr.  Johnson,  upon  the  spot, 
concerning  scenes  of  his  celebrated  History  of  Scot- 
land. We  surveyed  that  part  of  the  palace  appropri- 
ated to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  as  Keeper,  in  which 
our  beautiful  Queen  Mary  lived,  and  in  which  David 
Rizzio  was  murdered  ;  and  also  the  state  rooms. 
Dr.  Johnson  was  a  great  reciter  of  all  sorts  of  things, 
serious  or  comical.  I  overheard  him  repeating  here, 
in  a  kind  of  muttering  tone,  a  line  of  the  old  ballad, 
'  Johnny  Armstrong's  Last  Good-night ': 

'  And  ran  him  through  the  fair  body !' 

I  suppose  his  thinking  of  the  stabbing  of  Rizzio  had 
brought  this  into  his  mind,  by  association  of  ideas.  ,  .  . 


i84          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

We  set  out  from  Edinburgh.  .  .  .  When  we  came 
to  Leith,  I  talked  with  perhaps  too  boasting  an  air, 
how  pretty  the  Firth  of  Forth  looked  ;  as  indeed, 
after  the  prospect  from  Constantinople,  of  which  I 
have  been  told,  and  that  from  Naples,  which  I  have 
seen,  I  believe  the  view  of  that  Firth  and  its  en- 
virons, from  the  Castle  Hill  of  Edinburgh,  is  the 
finest  prospect  in  Europe.  '  Aye  '  (said  Dr.  Johnson) 
'  that  is  the  state  of  the  world.  Water  is  the  same 
everywhere.' 

'  Una  est  injusti  caerula  forma  maris.' 

I  told  him  the  part  here  was  the  mouth  of  the  river 
or  water  of  Leith.  '  Not  Lethe,'  said  Mr.  Nairne. 
'  Why,  Sir  (said  Dr.  Johnson),  when  a  Scotchman 
sets  out  from  this  part  for  England,  he  forgets  his 
native  country.'  NAIRNE.  '  I  hope,  Sir,  you  shall 
forget  England  here.'  JOHNSON.  '  Then  'twill  be 
still  more  Lethe.' 

JAMES  BOSWELL. 
THACKERAY  :  AN  EDINBURGH  REMINISCENCE 

THACKERAY  had  a  warm  heart  towards  Edinburgh. 
It  was  here  he  took  courage  from  the  cordial,  appre- 
ciative reception  he  got  when  he  lectured  here,  and 
he  always  returned  to  us  with  renewed  relish.  .  .  . 
We  cannot  resist  recalling  one  Sunday  evening  in 
December,  when  he  was  walking  with  two  friends 
along  the  Dean  Road,  to  the  west  of  Edinburgh,  one 
of  the  noblest  outlets  to  any  city.  It  was  a  lovely 
evening, — such  a  sunset  as  one  never  forgets  ;  a  rich 
dark  bar  of  cloud  hovered  over  the  sun,  going  down 
behind  the  Highland  hills,  lying  bathed  in  amethystine 
bloom  ;  between  this  cloud  and  the  hills  there  was  a 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        185 

narrow  slip  of  the  pure  ether,  of  a  tender  cowslip 
colour,  lucid,  and  as  it  were  the  very  body  of  heaven 
in  its  clearness  ;  every  object  standing  out  as  if 
etched  upon  the  sky.  The  north-west  end  of 
Corstorphine  Hill,  with  its  trees  and  rocks,  lay 
in  the  heart  of  this  pure  radiance,  and  there  a 
wooden  crane,  used  in  the  quarry  below,  was  so 
placed  as  to  assume  the  figure  of  a  cross  ;  there  it 
was,  unmistakable,  lifted  up  against  a  crystal- 
line sky.  All  three  gazed  at  it  silently.  As  they 
gazed,  he  gave  utterance  in  a  tremulous,  gentle,  and 
rapid  voice,  to  what  all  were  feeling,  in  the  word 
'  CALVARY  !' 

JOHN  BROWN,  M.D. 

THE  GRASSMARKET 

IN  former  times,  England  had  her  Tyburn  to  which 
the  devoted  victims  of  justice  were  conducted  in 
solemn  procession  up  what  is  now  called  Oxford 
Road.  In  Edinburgh,  a  large  open  street,  or  rather 
oblong  square,  surrounded  by  high  houses,  called  the 
Grassmarket,  was  used  for  the  same  melancholy 
purpose.  It  was  not  ill  chosen  for  such  a  scene,  being 
of  considerable  extent,  and  therefore  fit  to  accommo- 
date a  great  number  of  spectators,  such  as  are  usually 
assembled  by  this  melancholy  spectacle.  On  the 
other  hand,  few  of  the  houses  which  surround  it  were, 
even  in  early  times,  inhabited  by  persons  of  fashion  ; 
so  that  those  likely  to  be  offended  or  over  deeply 
affected  by  such  unpleasant  exhibitions  were  not 
in  the  way  of  having  their  quiet  disturbed  by 
them.  The  houses  in  the  Grassmarket  are,  generally 
speaking,  of  a  mean  description  ;  yet  the  place  is 


186          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

not  without  some  features  of  grandeur,  being  over- 
hung by  the  southern  side  of  the  huge  rock  on 
which  the  castle  stands,  and  by  the  moss-grown 
battlements  and  turreted  walls  of  that  ancient 
fortress. 

It  was  the  custom,  until  within  these  thirty  years,* 
or  thereabouts,  to  use  this  esplanade  for  the  scene  of 
public  executions.  The  fatal  day  was  announced  to 
the  public,  by  the  appearance  of  a  huge  black  gallows- 
tree  towards  the  eastern  end  of  the  Grassmarket. 
This  ill-omened  apparition  was  of  great  height,  with 
a  scaffold  surrounding  it,  and  a  double  ladder  placed 
against  it,  for  the  ascent  of  the  unhappy  criminal  and 
the  executioner.  As  this  apparatus  was  always 
arranged  before  dawn,  it  seemed  as  if  the  gallows  had 
grown  out  of  the  earth  in  the  course  of  one  night,  like 
the  production  of  some  foul  demon  ;  and  I  well  re- 
member the  fright  with  which  the  schoolboys,  when 
I  was  one  of  their  number,  used  to  regard  these 
ominous  signs  of  deadly  preparation.  On  the  night 
after  the  execution  the  gallows  again  disappeared, 
and  was  conveyed  in  silence  and  darkness  to  the  place 
where  it  was  usually  deposited,  which  was  one  of  the 
vaults  under  the  Parliament  House,  or  courts  of 
justice.  This  mode  of  execution  is  now  exchanged 
for  one  similar  to  that  in  front  of  Newgate, — with 
what  beneficial  effect  is  uncertain.  The  mental 
sufferings  of  the  convict  are  indeed  shortened.  He 
no  longer  stalks  between  the  attendant  clergymen, 
dressed  in  his  grave-clothes,  through  a  considerable 
part  of  the  city,  looking  like  a  moving  and  walking 
corpse,  while  yet  an  inhabitant  of  this  world  ;  but, 
as  the  ultimate  purpose  of  punishment  has  in  view 
*  1818. 


THE   CASTLE    FROM    GRASSMARKET 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        187 

the  prevention  of  crimes,  it  may  at  least  be  doubted 
whether,  in  abridging  the  melancholy  ceremony,  we 
have  not  in  part  diminished  that  appalling  effect 
upon  the  spectators  which  is  the  useful  end  of  all 
such  inflictions,  and  in  consideration  of  which  alone, 
unless  in  very  particular  cases,  capital  sentences  can 
be  altogether  justified. 

Adjacent  to  the  tolbooth  or  city  jail  of  Edinburgh 
is  one  of  three  churches  into  which  the  cathedral  of 
St.  Giles  is  now  divided,  called,  from  its  vicinity,  the 
Tolbooth  Church.  It  was  the  custom,  that  criminals 
under  sentence  of  death  were  brought  to  this  church, 
with  a  sufficient  guard,  to  hear  and  join  in  public 
worship  on  the  Sabbath  before  execution.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  hearts  of  these  unfortunate 
persons,  however  hardened  before  against  feelings 
of  devotion,  could  not  but  be  accessible  to  them  upon 
uniting  their  thoughts  and  voices,  for  the  last  time, 
along  with  their  fellow-mortals,  in  addressing  their 
Creator.  And  to  the  rest  of  the  congregation,  it 
was  thought  it  could  not  but  be  impressive  and 
affecting,  to  find  their  devotions  mingling  with  those 
who,  sent  by  the  doom  of  an  earthly  tribunal  to 
appear  where  the  whole  earth  is  judged,  might  be 
considered  as  beings  trembling  on  the  verge  of 
eternity. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

FROM  '  SONG  OF  THE  OUTLAW  MURRAY  ' 

'  GOD  mot  thee  save,  brave  Outlaw  Murray  ! 

Thy  ladye,  and  all  thy  chyvalrie  !' — 
'  Marry,  thou's  wellcum,  gentleman, 

Some  King's  messenger  thou  seemis  to  be.' — 


188          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

'  The  King  of  Scotlonde  sent  me  here, 
And,  gude  Outlaw,  I  am  sent  to  thee  ; 

I  wad  not  of  whom  ye  hald  your  landis, 
Or  man,  wha  may  thy  master  be  ?' — 

'  Thir  landis  are  MINE  !'  the  Outlaw  said  ; 

'  I  ken  nae  King  in  Christentie  ; 
Frae  Soudron  I  this  Foreste  wan, 

When  the  King  nor  his  knightis  were  not  to 
see.' — 

'  He  desyres  you'll  cum  to  Edinburgh, 

And  hauld  of  him  this  Foreste  fre  ; 
And,  gif  ye  refuse  to  do  this, 

He'll  conquess  baith  thy  landis  and  thee. 
He  hath  vow'd  to  cast  thy  castell  down, 

And  mak  a  widowe  o'  thy  gaye  ladye  ; 

'  He'll  hang  thy  merryemen,  payr  by  payr. 

In  ony  frith  where  he  may  them  finde.'— . 
'  Ay,  by  my  troth  !'  the  Outlaw  said, 

'  Than  would  I  thinke  me  far  behinde. 

'  Ere  the  King  my  feir  countrie  get, 

This  land  that's  nativest  to  me  ! 
Mony  o'  his  nobilis  sail  be  cauld, 

Their  ladyes  sail  be  right  wearie.' 

Then  spak  his  ladye,  feir  of  face, 

She  seyd,  '  Without  consent  of  me, 
That  an  Outlaw  suld  cum  before  a  King  ; 

I  am  right  afraid  of  treasonrie. 
Bid  him  be  gude  to  his  lordis  at  hame, 

For  Edinburgh  my  lord  sail  nevir  see.' 

Border  Minstrelsy. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  EDINBURGH        189 

THE  FIRTH  OF  FORTH 

SLIDE  soft,  fair  Forth,  and  make  a  crystal  plain, 
Cut  your  white  locks,  and  on  your  foamy  face 
Let  not  a  wrinkle  be,  when  you  embrace 
The  boat  that  earth's  perfections  doth  contain. 
Winds,  wonder,  and  through  wond'ring  hold  your 

peace  ; 

Or  if  that  ye  your  hearts  cannot  restrain 
From  sending  sighs,  mov'd  by  a  lover's  case, 
Sigh,  and  in  her  fair  hair  yourselves  enchain  ; 
Or  take  these  sighs  which  absence  makes  arise 
From  mine  oppressed  breast,  and  wave  the  sails, 
Or  some  sweet  breath  now  brought  from  Paradise  : 
Floods  seem  to  smile,  love  o'er  the  winds  prevails, 
And  yet  huge  waves  arise  ;  the  cause  is  this, 
The  ocean  strives  with  Forth  the  boat  to  kiss. 

WILLIAM   DRUMMOND   OF   HAWTHORNDEN. 
TO  CLARINDA 

ON    THE    POET'S    LEAVING    EDINBURGH 

CLARINDA,  mistress  of  my  soul, 

The  measur'd  time  is  run  ! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 

Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie  ; — 
Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light, 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy  ? 

We  part — but,  by  these  precious  drops 

That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes  ! 
No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps 

Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 


THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

She,  the  fair  sun  of  all  her  sex, 

Has  blest  my  glorious  day  ; 
And  shall  a  glimmering  planet  fix 

My  worship  to  its  ray  ? 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES 


Now  here  is  the  advantage  of  Edinburgh.  In  the  country, 
if  a  sense  of  inability  seizes  me,  it  haunts  me  from  morning  to 
night,  but  in  town  the  time  is  so  occupied  and  frittered  away 
by  official  duties  and  chance  occupations,  that  you  have  not 
leisure  to  play  Master  Stephen  and  be  melancholy  and  gentle- 
manlike. 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


FROM  '  THE  MOTHER'S  IDOL  BROKEN  ' 

WITHIN  a  mile  of  Edinburgh  town 
We  laid  our  little  darling  down  ; 
Our  first  seed  in  God's  acre  sown  ! 

So  sweet  a  place  !     Death  looks  beguiled 
Of  half  his  gloom  ;  or  softly  smiled 
To  win  our  wondrous  spirit-child. 

God  giveth  His  Beloved  sleep 

So  calm,  within  its  silence  deep, 

As  Angel-guards  the  watch  might  keep. 

The  City  looketh  solemn  and  sweet ; 
It  bares  a  gentle  brow,  to  greet 
The  Mourners  mourning  at  its  feet. 

The  sea  of  human  life  breaks  round 

This  shore  o'  the  dead,  with  softened  sound  : 

Wild  flowers  climb  each  mossy  mound 

To  place  in  resting  hands  their  palm, 

And  breathe  their  beauty,  bloom  and  balm  ; 

Folding  the  dead  in  fragrant  calm. 

A  softer  shadow  Grief  might  wear  ; 
And  old  Heartache  come  gather  there 
The  peace  that  falleth  after  prayer. 

Poor  heart,  that  danced  along  the  vines 
All  reeling-ripe  with  wild  love-wines, 
Thou  walk'st  with  Death  among  the  pines  ! 
!93  13 


194          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Lorn  Mother,  at  the  dark  grave-door, 
She  kneeleth,  pleading  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
But  it  is  shut  for  evermore. 

She  toileth  on,  the  mournfull'st  thing, 

At  the  vain  task  of  emptying 

The  cistern  whence  the  salt  tears  spring. 

Blind  !  blind  !     She  feels,  but  cannot  read 
Aright  ;  then  leans  as  she  would  feed 
The  dear  dead  lips  that  never  heed. 

The  spirit  of  life  may  leap  above, 
But  in  that  grave  her  prisoned  Dove 
Lies,  cold  to  th'  warm  embrace  of  love, 

And  dark,  though  all  the  world  is  bright ; 
And  lonely,  with  a  City  in  sight ; 
And  desolate  in  the  rainy  night. 

Ah,  God  !  when  in  the  glad  life-cup 
The  face  of  Death  swims  darkly  up, 
The  crowning  flower  is  sure  to  droop  ! 

And  so  we  laid  our  Darling  down, 
When  summer's  face  grew  ripely  brown, 
And  still,  though  grief  hath  milder  grown, 

Unto  the  Stranger's  land  we  cleave, 

Like  some  poor  Birds  that  grieve  and  grieve, 

Round  the  robbed  nest,  and  cannot  leave. 

GERALD    MASSEY. 


EDINBURGH     SOCIETY  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT'S 
TIME 

BEFORE  I  ever  met  Scott  in  private,  I  had,  of  course, 
heard  many  people  describe  and  discuss  his  style  of 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  195 

conversation.  Everybody  seemed  to  agree  that  it 
overflowed  with  hearty  good-humour,  as  well  as 
plain,  unaffected  good  sense  and  sagacity  ;  but  I  had 
heard  not  a  few  persons  of  undoubted  ability  and 
accomplishment  maintain,  that  the  genius  of  the  great 
poet  and  novelist  rarely,  if  ever,  revealed  itself  in  his 
talk.  It  is  needless  to  say,  that  the  persons  I  allude 
to  were  all  his  own  countrymen,  and  themselves  im- 
bued, more  or  less,  with  the  conversational  habits 
derived  from  a  system  of  education  in  which  the 
study  of  metaphysics  occupies  a  very  large  share  of 
attention.  The  best  table-talk  of  Edinburgh  was, 
and  probably  still  is,  in  a  very  great  measure  made  up 
of  brilliant  disquisition — such  as  might  be  trans- 
ferred without  alteration  to  a  professor's  note-book, 
or  the  pages  of  a  critical  Review — and  of  sharp  word- 
catchings,  ingenious  thrusting  and  parrying  of 
dialectics,  and  all  the  quips  and  quibblets  of  bar 
pleading.  It  was  the  talk  of  a  society  to  which 
lawyers  and  lecturers  had,  for  at  least  a  hundred  years, 
given  the  tone.  From  the  date  of  the  Union,  Edin- 
burgh ceased  to  be  the  headquarters  of  the  Scotch 
nobility — and  long  before  the  time  of  which  I  speak, 
they  had  all  but  entirely  abandoned  it  as  a  place  of 
residence.  I  think  I  never  knew  above  two  or  three 
of  the  Peerage  to  have  houses  there  at  the  same  time 
— and  these  were  usually  among  the  poorest  and  most 
insignificant  of  their  order.  The  wealthier  gentry 
had  followed  their  example.  Very  few  of  that  class 
ever  spent  any  considerable  part  of  the  year  in 
Edinburgh,  except  for  the  purpose  of  educating  their 
children,  or  superintending  the  progress  of  a  law- 
suit ;  and  these  were  not  more  likely  than  a  score  or 
two  of  comatose  and  lethargic  old  Indians,  to  make 

13 — 2 


196          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

head  against  the  established  influences  of  academical 
and  forensic  celebrity.  Now  Scott's  taste  and  re- 
sources had  not  much  in  common  with  those  who  had 
inherited  and  preserved  the  chief  authority  in  this 
provincial  hierarchy  of  rhetoric.  He  was  highly 
amused  with  watching  their  dexterous  logomachies 
— but  his  delight  in  such  displays  arose  mainly,  I 
cannot  doubt,  from  the  fact  of  their  being,  both  as  to 
subject-matter  and  style  and  method,  remote  a 
Sccevolee  studiis.  He  sat  by,  as  he  would  have  done 
at  a  stage-play  or  a  fencing  match,  enjoying  and 
applauding  the  skill  exhibited,  but  without  feeling 
much  ambition  to  parade  himself  as  a  rival  either  of 
the  foil  or  the  buskin.  I  can  easily  believe,  therefore, 
that  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  life — before  the  blaze 
of  universal  fame  had  overawed  local  prejudice,  and 
a  new  generation,  accustomed  to  hear  of  that  fame 
from  their  infancy,  had  grown  up — it  may  have 
been  the  commonly  adopted  creed  in  Edinburgh, 
that  Scott,  however  disguised  otherwise,  was  not  to 
be  named  as  a  table-companion  in  the  same  day  with 
this  or  that  master  of  luminous  dissertation  or  quick 
rejoinder,  who  now  sleeps  as  forgotten  as  his  grand- 
mother. .  .  .  Scott  had  a  marvellous  stock  of  queer 
stories,  which  he  often  told  with  happy  effect,  but 
that,  bating  these  drafts  on  a  portentous  memory,  set 
off  with  a  simple  old-fashioned  naivete  of  humour 
and  pleasantry,  his  strain  of  talk  was  remarkable 
neither  for  depth  of  remark  nor  facility  of  illus- 
tration ;  that  his  views  and  opinions  on  the  most 
important  topics  of  practical  interest  were  hopelessly 
perverted  by  his  blind  enthusiasm  for  the  dreams  of 
bygone  ages.  ...  I  fancy  it  will  seem  equally 
credible,  that  the  most  sharp-sighted  of  these  social 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  197 

critics  may  not  always  have  been  capable  of  tracing, 
and  doing  justice  to,  the  powers  which  Scott  brought 
to  bear  upon  the  topics  which  they,  not  he,  had 
chosen  for  discussion.  In  passing  from  a  gas-lit 
hall  into  a  room  with  wax  candles,  the  guests  some- 
times complain  that  they  have  left  splendour  for 
gloom  ;  but  let  them  try  by  what  sort  of  light  it  is 
most  satisfactory  to  read,  write,  or  embroider,  or 
consider  at  leisure  under  which  of  the  two  either  men 
or  women  look  their  best.  ...  As  for  the  clever  old- 
world  anecdotes  which  these  clever  persons  were  con- 
descending enough  to  laugh  at  as  pleasant  extrava- 
gances, serving  merely  to  relieve  and  set  off  the 
main  stream  of  debate,  they  were  often  enough,  it 
may  be  guessed,  connected  with  the  theme  in  hand 
by  links  not  the  less  apt  that  they  might  be  too 
subtle  to  catch  their  bedazzled  and  self-satisfied 
optics.  .  .  .  There  are  a  thousand  homely  old 
proverbs,  which  many  a  dainty  modern  would  think 
it  beneath  his  dignity  to  quote  in  speech  or  writing, 
any  one  of  which  condenses  more  wit  (take  that  word 
in  any  of  its  senses)  than  could  be  extracted  from  all 
that  was  ever  said  or  written  by  the  doctrinaires  of 
the  Edinburgh  school.  Many  of  those  gentlemen 
held  Scott's  conversation  to  be  commonplace  exactly 
for  the  same  reason  that  a  child  thinks  a  perfectly 
limpid  stream,  though  perhaps  deep  enough  to  drown 
it  three  times  over,  must  needs  be  shallow.  But  it 
will  be  easily  believed  that  the  best  and  highest  of 
their  own  idols  had  better  means  and  skill  of  measure- 
ment. I  can  never  forget  the  pregnant  expression 
of  one  of  the  ablest  of  that  school  and  party,  Lord 
Cockburn,  who,  when  some  glib  youth  chanced  to 
echo  in  his  hearing  the  consolatory  tenet  of  local 


198          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

mediocrity,  answered  quietly,  '  I  have  the  misfortune 
to  think  differently  from  you  ;  in  my  humble  opinion, 
Walter  Scott's  sense  is  a  still  more  wonderful  thing 
than  his  genius.'  ...  Of  his  Edinburgh  acquaintances 
.  .  .  with  few  exceptions,  the  really  able  lawyers  of 
his  own  or  nearly  similar  standing  had  ere  this  time 
attained  stations  of  judicial  dignity,  or  were  in  the 
springtide  of  practice  ;  and  in  either  case  they  were 
likely  to  consider  general  society  much  in  his  own 
fashion,  as  the  joyous  relaxation  of  life,  rather  than 
the  theatre  of  exertion  and  display.  Their  tables 
were  elegantly,  some  of  them  sumptuously  spread  ; 
and  they  lived  in  a  pretty  constant  interchange  of 
entertainments  upon  a  large  scale,  in  every  circum- 
stance of  which,  conversation  included,  it  was  their 
ambition  to  imitate  those  voluptuous  metropolitan 
circles,  wherein  most  of  them  had  from  time  to  time 
mingled,  and  several  of  them  with  distinguished 
success.  Among  such  prosperous  gentlemen,  like 
himself  past  the  mezzo  cammin,  Scott's  picturesque 
anecdotes,  rich  easy  humour,  and  gay  involuntary 
glances  of  mother-wit,  were,  it  is  not  difficult  to  sup- 
pose, appreciated  above  contributions  of  a  more 
ambitious  stamp  ;  and  no  doubt  his  London  reputa- 
tion de  salon  (which  had  by  degrees  risen  to  a  high 
pitch,  although  he  cared  nothing  for  it)  was  not  with- 
out effect  in  Edinburgh. 

J.    G.    LOCKHART. 
A  DINNER  IN  ST.  JOHN  STREET 

JAMES  BALLANTYNE  then  [1818]  lived  in  St.  John 
Street,  a  row  of  good  old-fashioned  and  spacious 
houses,  adjoining  the  Canongate  and  Holyrood,  and 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  199 

at  no  great  distance  from  his  printing  establishment. 
...  As  far  as  a  stranger  might  judge,  there  could 
not  be  a  more  exemplary  household,  or  a  happier 
one  ;  and  I  have  occasionally  met  the  poet  [Scott] 
in  St.  John  Street  when  there  was  no  other  guests 
but  Erskine,  Terry,  George  Hogarth,  and  another 
intimate  friend  or  two,  and  when  James  Ballantyne 
was  content  to  appear  in  his  own  true  and  best 
colours,  the  kind  head  of  his  family,  the  respectful 
but  honest  school-fellow  of  Scott,  the  easy  landlord 
of  a  plain,  comfortable  table.  But  when  any  great 
event  was  about  to  take  place  in  the  business, 
especially  on  the  eve  of  a  new  novel,  there  were 
doings  of  a  higher  strain  in  St.  John  Street ;  and  to 
be  present  at  one  of  those  scenes  was  truly  a  rich 
treat,  even — if  not  especially — for  persons  who,  like 
myself,  had  no  more  knowledge  than  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  to  the  authorship  of  '  Waverley.'  Then 
were  congregated  about  the  printer  all  his  own 
literary  allies,  of  whom  a  considerable  number  were 
by  no  means  personally  familiar  with  '  THE  GREAT 
UNKNOWN  '; — who,  by  the  way,  owed  to  him  that 
widely  adopted  title  ; — and  He  appeared  among  the 
rest  with  his  usual  open  aspect  of  buoyant  good- 
humour,  although  it  was  not  difficult  to  trace,  in  the 
occasional  play  of  his  features,  the  diversion  it  afforded 
him  to  watch  all  the  procedure  of  his  swelling  con- 
fidant, and  the  curious  neophytes  that  surrounded 
the  well-spread  board. 

The  feast  was,  to  use  one  of  James's  own  favourite 
epithets,  gorgeous  ;  an  aldermanic  display  of  turtle 
and  venison,  with  the  suitable  accompaniments  of 
iced  punch,  potent  ale,  and  generous  Madeira.  When 
the  cloth  was  drawn,  the  burley  preses  arose,  with 


200          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

all  he  could  muster  of  the  port  of  John  Kemble,  and 
spouted  with  a  sonorous  voice  the  formula  of  Mac- 
beth— 

'  Fill  full  ! 
I  drink  to  the  general  joy  of  the  whole  table  !' 

This  was  followed  by  '  The  King — God  bless  him  !' 
and  second  came,  '  Gentlemen,  there  is  another  toast 
which  never  has  nor  shall  be  omitted  in  this  house 
of  mine.  I  give  you  the  health  of  Mr.  Walter  Scott 
with  three  times  three  !'  All  honour  having  been 
done  to  this  health,  and  Scott  having  briefly  thanked 
the  company  with  some  expressions  of  warm  affec- 
tion to  their  host,  Mrs.  Ballantyne  retired ;  the 
bottles  passed  round  twice  or  thrice  in  the  usual 
way  ;  and  then  James  rose  once  more,  every  vein  on 
his  brow  distended,  his  eyes  solemnly  fixed  upon 
vacancy,  to  propose,  not  as  before  in  his  stentorian 
key,  but  with  '  'bated  breath,'  in  a  sort  of  whisper 
by  which  a  stage  conspirator  thrills  the  gallery, 
'  Gentlemen,  a  bumper  to  the  immortal  Author  of 
Waverley  /' 

J.    G.    LOCKHART. 

EDINBURGH'S  GLORIOUS  LITERARY  PERIOD 

EDINBURGH  for  about  a  hundred  and  thirty  years 
after  the  Union  continued  to  be  in  effect,  and  not  in 
name  merely,  the  capital  of  a  kingdom,  and  occupied 
a  place  in  the  eye  of  the  world  scarcely  second  to 

that  of  London The  high  place  which  Edinburgh 

held  among  the  cities  of  the  earth  it  owed  exclusively 
to  the  intellectual  standing  and  high  literary  ability 
of  a  few  distinguished  citizens,  who  were  able  to  do 
for  it  greatly  more  in  the  eye  of  Europe  than  had 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  201 

been  done  by  its  Court  and  Parliament,  or  than  could 
have  been  done  through  any  other  agency,  by  the 
capital  of  a  small  and  poor  country,  peopled  by 
but  a  handful  of  men.  .  .  .  During  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century*  one  distinguished  name  after 
another  has  been  withdrawn  by  death  from  that 
second  great  constellation  of  Scotchmen  resident  in 
Edinburgh  to  which  Chalmers,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and 
Lord  Jeffrey  belonged ;  and  with  Sir  William 
Hamilton  the  last  group  may  be  said  to  have  dis- 
appeared. For  the  future,  Edinburgh  bids  fair  to 
take  its  place  simply  among  the  greater  provincial 
towns  of  the  empire  ;  and  it  seems  but  natural  to 
look  upon  her  departing  glory  with  a  sigh,  and  to 
luxuriate  in  recollection  over  the  times  when  she 
stood  highest  in  the  intellectual  scale,  and  possessed 
an  influence  over  opinion  co-extensive  with  civilized 
man.  .  .  .  Lord  Cockburn  [author  of  the  notable 
'  Memorials  ']  came  into  life  just  in  time  to  occupy 
the  most  interesting  point  possible  as  an  observer. 
He  was  born  nearly  a  year  before  Chalmers,  only 
eight  years  after  Scott,  and  about  fourteen  years 
before  Lockhart.  The  place  he  occupied  in  that 
group  of  eminent  men  to  which  the  capital  of  Scot- 
land owed  its  glory  was  thus,  chronologically,  nearly 
a  middle  place,  and  the  best  conceivable  for  obser- 
vation. He  was  in  time  too  to  see,  at  least  as  a  boy, 
most  of  the  earlier  group.  The  greatest  of  their 
number,  Hume,  had,  indeed,  passed  from  off  the 
stage  ;  but  almost  all  the  others  still  lived.  Home, 
Robertson,  Blair,  Henry,  were  flourishing  in  green 
old  age  at  a  time  when  he  had  shot  up  into  curious 
observant  boyhood ;  and  Mackenzie  and  Dugald 
*  Written  in  1856. 


202          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Stewart  were  still  in  but  middle  life.  It  is  perhaps 
beyond  the  reach  of  philosophy  to  assign  adequate 
reasons  for  the  appearance  at  one  period  rather  than 
another  of  groups  of  great  men.  .  .  .  Nor  can  it  be 
told  why  the  Humes,  Robertsons,  and  Adam  Smiths 
should  have  appeared  together  in  one  splendid  group, 
to  give  place  to  another  group  scarce  less  brilliant, 
though  in  a  different  way.  ...  It  is  greatly  easier  to 
say  why  such  talent  should  have  found  a  permanent 
centre  in  Edinburgh.  Simple  as  it  may  seem,  the 
prescriptive  right  of  the  capital  to  draft  to  its  pulpits 
the  elite  of  the  Established  clergy  did  more  for  it 
than  almost  aught  else.  Robertson  the  historian 
had  been  minister  of  Gladsmuir  ;  Henry  the  historian, 
minister  of  a  Presbyterian  congregation  in  Berwick  ; 
Hugh  Blair,  minister  of  Collessie  ;  Finlayson,  so  dis- 
tinguished at  one  time  for  his  sermons,  and  a  meri- 
torious Logic  Professor  in  the  University,  had  been 
minister  of  Borthwick  ;  MacKnight,  the  Harmonist 
of  the  Gospels,  minister  of  Jedburgh  ;  and  Dr.  John 
Erskine,  minister  of  Kirkintilloch.  But  after  they 
had  succeeded  in  making  themselves  known  by  their 
writings,  they  were  all  concentrated  in  Edinburgh, 
with  not  a  few  other  able  and  brilliant  men  ;  and,  in 
an  age  in  which  the  Scottish  clergy,  whatever  might 
be  their  merely  professional  merits  as  a  class,  were 
perhaps  the  most  literary  in  Europe,  such  a  privilege 
could  not  fail  to  reflect  much  honour  on  the  favoured 
city  for  whose  special  benefit  it  was  exerted.  The 
University,  too,  was  singularly  fortunate  in  its  pro- 
fessors, .  .  .  and  long  maintained  in  high  repute  by 
the  Munroes,  Cullens,  and  Gregories,  and  which 
reckoned  among  its  offshoots,  though  they  concen- 
trated their  energies  rather  on  physical  and  natural 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  203 

than  on  medical  science,  men  such  as  Hutton  and 
Black.  In  mathematics  it  had  boasted  in  succession 
of  a  David  Gregory  and  Colin  Maclaren,  both  friends 
and  proteges  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  ;  and  in  later  times 
of  a  Matthew  Stewart,  John  Playfair,  and  Sir  John 
Leslie.  Both  these  last,  with  their  predecessor 
Robison,  had  also  rendered  its  chair  of  natural 
philosophy  a  very  celebrated  one ;  and  of  its  moral 
science,  it  must  be  enough  to  say  that  its  meta- 
physical chair  was  filled  in  succession  by  Dr.  Adam 
Ferguson,  Dugald  Stewart,  Thomas  Brown,  and 
latterly  by  the  brilliant  Wilson,  who,  if  less  disting- 
guished  than  his  predecessors  in  the  walks  of  abstract 
thought,  more  than  equalled  them  in  genius,  and  in 
his  influence  over  the  general  literature  of  the  age. 
Such  men  are  the  gifts  of  Providence  to  a  country, 
and  cannot  be  produced  at  any  given  time  on  the 
ordinary  principle  of  demand  and  supply.  But  even 
when  they  exist,  they  may  be  kept  out  of  their  proper 
places  by  an  ill-exercised  patronage  ;  and  it  must  be 
conceded  to  the  old  *close  corporation  of  Edinburgh 
that  in  the  main  it  exercised  its  patronage  with  great 
discrimination,  and  for  the  best  interests  of  the  city. 

HUGH  MILLER, 


EDINBURGH  SOCIETY 

THERE  is  a  very  old  rule,  to  do  like  the  Romans  when 
you  are  in  Rome  ;  and  the  only  merit  I  lay  claim  to 
on  the  present  occasion,  resolves  itself  into  a  rigid 
observance  of  this  sage  precept.  It  is  the  fashion 
here  for  every  man  to  lead  two  or  three  different 
kinds  of  lives  all  at  once,  and  I  have  made  shift  to 
do  somewhat  like  my  neighbours.  In  London,  a 


204          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

lawyer  is  a  lawyer,  and  he  is  nothing  more  ;  for 
going  to  the  play  or  the  House  of  Commons,  now 
and  then,  can  scarcely  be  considered  as  any  serious 
interruption  of  his  professional  habits  and  existence. 
In  London,  in  like  manner,  a  gay  man  is  nothing  but 
a  gay  man  ;  for,  however  he  may  attempt  to  dis- 
guise the  matter,  whatever  he  does  out  of  the  world 
of  gaiety  is  intended  only  to  increase  his  consequence 
in  it.  But  here  I  am  living  in  a  city,  which  thrives 
both  by  law  and  by  gaieties,  and,  would  you  believe 
it  ?  a  very  great  share  of  the  practice  of  both  of  these 
mysteries  lies  in  the  very  same  hands.  It  is  this,  so 
far  as  I  can  judge,  which  constitutes  what  the  logi- 
cians would  call  the  differential  quality  of  the  society 
of  Edinburgh.  ...  Of  late  years  the  gentry  of  some 
of  the  northern  English  counties  have  begun  to  come 
hither,  in  preference  to  going  to  York  as  they  used 
to  do  ;  and  out  of  all  this  medley  of  materials,  the 
actual  mass  of  the  society  of  Edinburgh  is  formed. 
I  mean  the  winter  society  of  Edinburgh  ;  for  in  the 
summer  months,  that  is,  from  April  till  Christmas, 
the  town  is  commonly  deserted  by  all,  except  those  who 
have  ties  of  real  business  to  connect  them  with  it. 
Nay,  during  a  considerable  portion  of  that  time,  it 
loses,  as  I  am  informed,  the  greater  part  even  of  its 
eminent  lawyers,  and  has  quite  as  green  and  desolate 
an  appearance,  as  the  fashionable  squares  in  London 
have  about  the  falling  of  the  leaf. 

The  medley  of  people  thus  brought  together  for 
a  few  months  every  year  to  inhabit  a  few  streets  in 
this  city,  cannot  afford  to  split  their  forces  very 
minutely,  so  as  to  form  many  different  spheres  of 
society,  according  to  their  opinions  of  their  relative 
rank  and  importance.  It  is  now  admitted  every- 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  205 

where,  that  no  party  is  worth  the  going  to  unless  it 
be  a  crowded  one  ;  now,  it  is  not  possible  to  form  a 
party  here  that  shall  be  at  once  select  and  crowded. 
The  dough  and  the  leaven  must  go  together  to  make  up 
the  loaf,  and  the  wives  of  lords  and  lairds,  and 
advocates,  and  writers,  must  be  contented  to  club 
their  forces,  if  they  are  to  produce  anything  that 
deserves  the  honourable  name  of  a  squeeze.  Now  and 
then,  indeed,  a  person  of  the  very  highest  importance 
may  by  great  exertion  succeed  in  forming  one  excep- 
tion to  the  rule.  But  the  rule  is  in  general  a  safe 
one  ;  and  the  Edinburgh  parties  are  in  the  main 
mixed  parties.  I  do  not  mean  that  they  are  mixed 
in  a  way  that  renders  them  at  all  disagreeable,  even 
to  those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  the  style  of 
society  in  much  greater  capitals,  but  that  they  are 
mixed  in  a  way  of  which  no  example  is  to  be  found  in 
the  parties  of  London,  or  indeed  of  any  European 
capital.  .  .  .  People  visit  each  other  in  Edinburgh 
with  all  the  appearance  of  cordial  familiarity,  who, 
if  they  lived  in  London,  would  imagine  their  differ- 
ence of  rank  to  form  an  impassable  barrier  against 
such  intercourse.  .  .  .  However  composed  and 
arranged,  the  routs  and  balls  of  this  place  are,  during 
their  season,  piled  upon  each  other  with  quite  as 
much  bustle  and  pomp  as  those  even  of  London. 
Every  night  some  half  a  dozen  ladies  are  at  home, 
and  everything  that  is  in  the  wheel  of  fashion  is 
carried  round,  and  thrown  out  in  due  course  at  the 
door  of  each  of  them.  There  is  at  least  one  regular 
ball  every  evening,  and  besides  this,  half  of  the  routs 
are  in  their  waning  hours  transformed  into  carpet - 
dances,  wherein  quadrilles  are  performed  in  a  very 
penseroso  method  to  the  music  of  the  pianoforte. 


206 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  I  am  inclined  to  be  of 
opinion,  that  even  those  who  most  assiduously  fre- 
quent these  miscellaneous  assemblages  are  soon 
sickened,  if  they  durst  but  confess  the  truth,  of  the 
eternal  repetition  of  the  same  identical  crowd  dis- 
playing its  noise  and  pressure  under  so  many  different 
roofs.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  suspect,  that  there  are 
not  some  faces,  of  which  no  eye  can  grow  weary  ;  but, 
in  spite  of  their  loveliness,  I  am  certainly  of  opinion, 
that  the  impression  made  by  the  belles  of  Edinburgh 
would  be  more  powerful,  were  it  less  frequently 
reiterated. 

J.    G.    LOCKHART. 


A  GROUP  OF  LADIES  IN  OLD  EDINBURGH 

THERE  was  a  singular  race  of  excellent  Scotch  old 
ladies.  They  were  a  delightful  set ;  strong-headed, 
warm-hearted,  and  high-spirited  ;  the  fire  of  their 
tempers  not  always  latent ;  merry,  even  in  solitude  ; 
very  resolute  ;  indifferent  about  modes  and  habits  of 
the  modern  world  ;  and  adhering  to  their  own  ways, 
so  as  to  stand  out,  like  primitive  rocks,  above  ordinary 
society.  Their  prominent  qualities  of  sense,  humour, 
affection,  and  spirit,  were  embodied  in  curious  out- 
sides  ;  for  they  all  dressed,  and  spoke,  and  did,  exactly 
as  they  chose ;  their  language,  like  their  habits, 
entirely  Scotch,  but  without  any  other  vulgarity 
than  what  perfect  naturalness  is  sometimes  mis- 
taken for. 

There  sits  a  clergyman's  widow,  the  mother  of  the 
first  Sir  David  Dundas.  .  .  .  We  used  to  go  to  her 
house  in  Bunker's  Hill,  when  boys,  on  Sundays  be- 
tween the  morning  and  afternoon  sermons,  where  we 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  207 

were  cherished  with  Scotch  broth,  and  cakes,  and 
many  a  joke  from  the  old  lady.  Age  had  made  her 
incapable  of  walking,  even  across  the  room ;  so, 
clad  in  a  plain  black  silk  gown,  and  a  pure  muslin 
cap,  she  sat  half  encircled  by  a  high-backed  black 
leather  chair,  reading,  with  silver  spectacles  stuck 
on  her  thin  nose,  and  interspersing  her  studies,  and 
her  days,  with  much  laughter,  and  not  a  little  sar- 
casm. What  a  spirit  !  There  was  more  fun  and 
sense  round  that  chair  than  in  the  theatre  or  the 
church.  I  remember  one  of  her  grand- daughters 
stumbling,  in  the  course  of  reading  the  newspapers 
to  her,  on  a  paragraph  which  stated  that  a  lady's 
reputation  had  suffered  from  some  indiscreet  talk 
on  the  part  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Up  she  of  four- 
score sat,  and  said  with  an  indignant  shake  of  her 
shrivelled  fist  and  a  keen  voice,  '  The  dawmed  villain  ! 
does  he  kiss  and  tell !' 

And  there  is  Lady  Armiston,  the  mother  of  Henry 
Dundas,  the  first  Lord  Melville,  so  kind  to  us  mis- 
chievous boys  on  Saturdays.  She  was  generally  to 
be  found  in  the  same  chair,  on  the  same  spot ;  her 
thick  black  hair  combed  all  tightly  up  into  a  cone  on 
the  top  of  her  head ;  the  remains  of  considerable 
beauty  in  her  countenance  ;  great  and  just  pride  in 
her  son  ;  a  good  representative  in  her  general  air  and 
bearing  of  what  the  noble  English  ladies  must  have 
been  in  their  youth,  who  were  queens  in  their  family 
castles,  and  stood  sieges  in  defence  of  them.  .  .  . 

And  Sophia — or,  as  she  was  always  called,  Suphy — 
Johnston,  of  the  Hilton  family.  There  was  an 
original  !  Her  father,  from  some  whim,  resolved  to 
see  how  it  would  turn  out,  and  gave  her  no  education 
whatever.  Possessed  of  great  natural  vigour  of 


208          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

mind,  she  passed  her  youth  in  utter  rusticity  ;  in  the 
course  of  which,  however,  she  made  herself  a  good 
carpenter  and  a  good  smith,  arts  which  she  practised 
occasionally,  even  to  the  shoeing  of  a  horse,  I  believe, 
till  after  the  middle  of  her  life.  It  was  not  till  after 
she  became  a  woman  that  she  taught  herself  to  read 
and  write  ;  and  then  she  read  incessantly.  She  must 
have  been  about  sixty  before  I  ever  saw  her,  which 
was  chiefly,  and  often,  at  Niddrie.  Her  dress  was 
always  the  same,  a  man's  hat  when  out  of  doors,  and 
generally  when  within  them,  a  cloth  covering  exactly 
like  a  man's  great-coat,  buttoned  closely  from  the 
chin  to  the  ground,  worsted  stockings,  strong  shoes 
with  large  brass  clasps.  And  in  this  raiment  she  sat 
in  any  drawing-room,  and  at  any  table,  amidst  all 
the  fashion  and  aristocracy  of  the  land,  respected  and 
liked.  For  her  dispositions  were  excellent  ;  her  talk 
intelligent  and  racy,  rich  both  in  old  anecdote,  and 
in  shrewd  modern  observation,  and  spiced  with  a  good 
deal  of  plain  sarcasm  ;  her  understanding  powerful ; 
all  her  opinions  free,  and  very  freely  expressed  ;  and 
neither  loneliness,  nor  very  slender  means,  ever 
brought  sourness  or  melancholy  to  her  face  or  her 
heart. 

Sitting,  with  her  back  to  the  light,  in  the  usual  arm- 
chair by  the  side  of  the  fire,  in  the  Niddrie  drawing- 
room,  with  her  great-coat  and  her  hat,  her  dark 
wrinkled  face,  and  firmly  pursed  mouth,  the  two  feet 
set  flat  on  the  floor  and  close  together,  so  that  the 
public  had  a  full  view  of  the  substantial  shoes,  the 
book  held  by  the  two  hands  very  near  the  eyes,  if 
the  quick  ear  overheard  any  presumptuous  folly,  be 
it  from  solemn  gentleman  or  fine  lady,  down  went  the 
volume,  up  the  spectacles — '  that's  surely  great  non- 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  209 

sense,  sir,'  though  she  had  never  seen  him  before  ; 
then  a  little  Quart  and  Tierce  would  begin,  and  the 
wight  must  have  been  very  lucky  if  it  did  not  end  by 
his  being  smote. 

Her  own  proper  den  was  in  a  flat  on  the  ground 
floor  of  a  house  in  Windmill  Street,  where  her  sole 
companion  was  a  single  female  servant.  When  the 
servant  went  out,  which  she  generally  took  the  liberty 
of  doing  for  the  whole  of  Sunday,  Suphy's  orders 
were  that  she  should  lock  the  door,  and  take  the  key 
with  her.  This  saved  Suphy  the  torment  of  always 
rising  ;  for  people  went  away  when  they  found  the 
house,  as  they  thought,  shut  up.  But  she  had  a  hole 
through  which  she  saw  them  perfectly  well ;  and,  if 
she  was  inclined,  she  conversed  through  this  orifice  ; 
and  when  tired  of  them  told  them  to  go  away. 

Though  enjoying  life,  neither  she  nor  any  of  those 
stout-hearted  women  had  any  horror  of  death. 
When  Suphy's  day  was  visibly  approaching,  Dr. 
Gregory  prescribed  abstinence  from  animal  food,  and 
recommended  '  spoon  meat,'  unless  she  wished  to 
die.  '  Dee,  Doctor  !  odd — I'm  thinking  they've  for- 
gotten an  auld  wife  like  me  up  yonder  !'  However, 
when  he  came  back  next  day,  the  doctor  found  her 
at  the  spoon  meat — supping  a  haggis. 

The  contrasts  to  these  were  Lady  Don,  and  Mrs. 
Rochead  of  Inverleith, — two  dames  of  high  aristo- 
cratic breed.  They  had  both  shone,  first  as  hooped 
beauties  in  the  minuets,  then  as  ladies  of  ceremonies 
at  our  stately  assemblies.  Each  carried  her  peculiar 
qualities  and  air  to  the  very  edge  of  the  grave  ;  Lady 
Don's  dignity  softened  by  gentle  sweetness,  Mrs. 
Rochead's  made  more  formidable  by  cold  and  rather 
severe  solemnity. 

14 


210 

Except  Mrs.  Siddons  in  some  of  her  displays  of 
magnificent  royalty,  nobody  could  sit  down  like  the 
lady  of  Inverleith.  She  would  sail,  like  a  ship  from 
Tarshish,  gorgeous  in  velvet  or  rustling  in  silk,  and 
done  up  in  all  the  accompaniments  of  fan,  earrings 
and  finger  rings,  falling  sleeves,  scent  bottle,  em- 
broidered bag,  hoop  and  train — all  superb,  yet  all 
in  purest  taste  ;  and  managing  all  this  seemingly 
heavy  rigging,  with  as  much  ease  as  a  full  blown 
swan  does  its  plumage,  she  would  take  possession  of 
the  centre  of  a  large  sofa,  and  at  the  same  moment, 
without  the  slightest  visible  exertion,  would  cover 
the  whole  of  it  with  her  bravery.  The  graceful  folds 
seeming  to  lay  themselves  over  it  like  summer  waves. 
The  descent  from  her  carriage  too,  where  she  sat  like 
a  nautilus  in  its  shell,  was  a  display  which  no  one  in 
these  days  could  accomplish  or  even  fancy.  The 
mulberry-coloured  coach,  spacious  but  apparently 
not  too  large  for  what  it  carried,  though  she  alone 
was  in  it ;  the  handsome  jolly  coachman  and  his 
splendid  hammercloth  loaded  with  lace  ;  the  two 
respectful  liveried  footmen,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
richly  carpeted  step  ;  these  were  lost  sight  of  amidst 
the  slow  majesty  with  which  the  lady  came  down  and 
touched  the  earth.  She  presided,  in  this  imperial 
style,  over  her  son's  excellent  dinners,  with  great 
sense  and  spirit,  to  the  very  last  day  almost  of  a 
prolonged  life. 

Lady  Don  (who  lived  in  George  Street)  was  still 
more  highly  bred,  as  was  attested  by  her  polite 
cheerfulness  and  easy  elegance.  The  venerable  faded 
beauty,  the  white  well-coiled  hair,  the  soft  hand 
sparkling  with  old  brilliant  rings,  the  kind  heart,  the 
affectionate  manner,  the  honest  gentle  voice,  and  the 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  211 

mild  eye,  account  for  the  love  with  which  her  old 
age  was  surrounded.  She  was  about  the  last  person 
(so  far  as  I  recollect)  in  Edinburgh  who  kept  a  private 
sedan  chair.  Hers  stood  in  the  lobby,  and  was  as 
handsome  and  comfortable  as  silk,  velvet,  and  gilding 
could  make  it.  And,  when  she  wished  to  use  it,  two 
well-known  respectable  chairmen,  enveloped  in  their 
livery  cloaks,  were  the  envy  of  their  brethren.  She 
and  Mrs.  Rochead  both  sat  in  the  Tron  Church ;  and 
well  do  I  remember  how  I  used  to  form  one  of  the 
cluster  that  always  took  its  station  to  see  these 
beautiful  relics  emerge  from  the  coach  and  the  chair. 

Lady  Hunter  Blair  too !  and  Mrs.  Murray  of 
Henderland !  Unlike,  but  both  admirable.  Lady 
Blair's  elegance  and  sprightliness  would  have  graced 
and  enlivened  the  best  society  ;  but  her  tastes  and 
virtues  were  entirely  domestic,  and  made  her  the  most 
delightful  of  household  deities.  Mild,  affectionate, 
and  cheerful,  she  attracted  the  love  of  all  ages,  and 
closed  her  many  days  without  once  knowing  from 
personal  consciousness  what  selfishness  or  want  of 
charity  meant. 

Mrs.  Murray  was  stately,  even  to  stiffness  ;  but 
friendly  and  high  minded  ;  calm  and  ladylike  in  her 
dignity.  The  ceremonious  formality  of  her  air  and 
demeanour  was  made  graceful  and  appropriate  by 
a  once  beautiful  countenance  still  entire  in  its  best 
features,  but  attenuated  into  such  a  death-like 
paleness,  that  but  for  the  unquenched  light  of  a 
singularly  radiant  eye,  she  would  have  been  a  human 
statue. 

Miss  Menie  Trotter,  of  the  Mortonhall  family,  was 
of  a  later  date.  She  was  of  the  agrestic  order.  Her 
pleasures  lay  in  the  fields  and  long  country  walks. 

14 — 2 


212          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Ten  miles  at  a  stretch,  within  a  few  years  of  her 
death,  was  nothing  to  her.  Her  attire  accorded. 
But  her  understanding  was  fully  as  masculine. 
Though  slenderly  endowed,  she  did,  unnoticed,  acts 
of  liberality  for  which  most  of  the  rich  would  expect 
to  be  advertised.  Prevailing  loneliness  gave  her 
some  entertaining  habits,  but  never  impaired  her 
enjoyment  of  her  friends,  for  whom  she  had  always 
diverting  talk,  and  occasionally  '  a  bit  denner.' 
Indeed,  she  generally  sacrificed  an  ox  to  hospitality 
every  autumn,  which,  according  to  a  system  of  her 
own,  she  ate  regularly  from  nose  to  tail  ;  and  as  she 
indulged  in  him  only  on  Sundays,  and  with  a  chosen 
few,  he  feasted  her  half  through  the  winter.  This 
was  at  Blackford  Cottage,  a  melancholy  villa  on  the 
north  side  of  Blackford  Hill,  where  the  last  half,  at 
the  least,  of  her  life  was  passed.  I  remember  her 
urging  her  neighbour  Sir  Thomas  Lauder,  not  long 
before  her  death,  to  dine  with  her  next  Sunday  : 
'  For  eh  !  Sir  Thammas  !  we're  terrible  near  the  tail 
noo.'  She  told  me  that  her  oldest  friends  were  the 
Inneses  of  Stow  and  the  Scotts  of  Malleny,  families 
she  had  known  for  above  eighty-five  years.  They 
and  the  Mortonhall  family  had  each  a  mansion  house 
in  town  ;  two  of  them  being  the  two  corner  houses  at 
the  lower  end  of  a  close  leading  from  the  High  Street 
down  to  the  Cowgate,  and  the  third  one  of  the 
corner  houses  opposite,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  close 
leading  from  the  Cowgate  southwards,  each  of  the 
three  houses  looking  into  both  the  Cowgate  and  the 
close.  .  .  .  On  one  of  her  friends  asking  her,  not  long 
before  her  death,  how  she  was,  she  said,  '  Vera  weel — 
quite  weel  !  a  fearfu'  dream  !'  '  Aye  !  I'm  sorry 
for  that — what  was  it  ?'  '  Ou  !  what  d'ye  think  ! 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  213 

Of  a'  places  i'  the  world,  I  dreamed  I  was  in  heeven  ! 
And  what  d'ye  think  I  saw  there  ?  Deil  ha'et  but 
thoosands  upon  thoosands,  and  ten  thoosands  upon 
ten  thoosands,  o'  stark  naked  weans  !  That  wad  be 
a  dreadfu'  thing  !  for  ye  ken  I  ne'er  could  bide  bairns 
a'  my  days  !' 

HENRY  COCKBURN. 

EDINBURGH  BEAUS  AND  BELLES 

THE  Assembly  Close  received  the  fair  ; 

Order  and  elegance  presided  there — 

Each  gay  Right  Honourable  had  her  place, 

To  walk  a  minuet  with  becoming  grace. 

No  racing  to  the  dance,  with  rival  hurry — 

Such  was  thy  sway,  O  famed  Miss  Nicky  Murray  ! 

Each  lady's  fan  a  chosen  Damon  bore, 

With  care  selected  many  a  day  before  ; 

For,  unprovided  with  a  favourite  beau, 

The  nymph,  chagrined,  the  ball  must  needs  forgo, 

But  previous  matters  to  her  taste  arranged, 

Certes,  the  constant  couple  never  changed  ; 

Through  a  long  night,  to  watch  fair  Delia's  will, 

The  same  dull  swain  was  at  her  elbow  still. 

SIR   ALEXANDER   BOSWELL. 
ART  IN  EDINBURGH 

Shepherd.  Catch  me  harpin'  ower  lang  on  ae  string. 
Yet  music's  a  subject  I  could  get  ga'en  tiresome  upon. 

Tickler.  So  is  painting  and  poetry. 

Shepherd.  Paintin'  !  na — that's  the  warst  ava. 
Gang  into  an  exhibition,  and  only  look  at  a  crowd 
o'  cockneys,  some  wi'  specs,  and  some  wi'  quizzing- 
glasses,  and  faces  without  ae  grain  o'  meaning  in 


214          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

them  o'  ony  kind  whatsomever,  a'  glowering  perhaps 
at  a  picture  o'  ane  o'  Nature's  maist  fearfu'  or  mag- 
nificent warks  !  Mowdiewarts  !  they  might  as  well 
look  at  the  new-harled  gable-end  o'  a  barn.  Is't  a 
picture  o'  a  deep  dungeon — den  o'  ruefu'  rocks,  and 
the  waterfa'  its  raging  prisoner,  because  nae  wizard 
will  with  his  key  open  but  a  wicket  in  the  ancient 
gates  of  that  lonesome  penitentiary  ?  Is't  a  picture 
o'  a  lang  endless  glen,  wi'  miles  on  miles  o'  dreary 
mosses,  and  hags,  and  lochs — thae  wee  black  fear- 
some lochs  that  afttimes  gurgle  in  their  sullen  sleep 
as  if  they  wanted  to  grup  and  drown  ye  as  you  gang 
by  them,  same  lonely  hour,  takin'  care  to  keep  at 
safe  distance  along  the  benty  knowes — mountain 
above  mountain  far  and  near,  some  o'  them  illumin- 
ated with  a'  their  woods  till  the  verra  pine-trees  seem 
made  o'  heaven's  sunshine,  and  ithers,  wi'  a  weight 
o'  shadows  that  drown  the  sight  o'  a'  their  precipices, 
and  gar  the  michty  mass  o'  earth  gloom  like  thunder- 
clouds, wi'  nae  leevin'  thing  in  the  solitude  but 
your  plaited  self,  and  the  eagle  like  a  mote  in  the  fir- 
mament. Siccan  a  scene  as  Tamson  o'  Duddingston 
wad  trummel  as  he  daured  to  paint  it.  What,  I  ask, 
could  a  Princes  Street  maister  or  missy  ken  o'  sic  a 
work  mair  than  a  red-deer  wad  ken  o'  the  inside  o' 
George's  Street  Assembly  Rooms,  gin  he  were  to  be 
at  Gow's  Ball  ? 

Tickler.  Or  in  the  vegetable  market.  North,  have 
you  seen  that  worthy  original  Martin  since  he  came 
to  town  ? 

North.  I  have — and  I  have  seen  his  collection  too  at 
No.  44,  North  Hanover  Street  ;  rare,  choice,  splendid. 
What  a  Paul  Potter  !  What  a  Rembrandt !  What  a 
Correggio  !  It  is  a  proud  thing  to  know  that  such 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  215 

pictures  find  purchasers  in  Scotland  :  for  we  are  not 
rich. 

Tickler.  Neither  are  we  poor.  We  say  that  Edin- 
burgh is  a  city  of  palaces.  This  is  a  somewhat 
exaggerated  spirit  of  vain  talk  ;  but  certainly  it  con- 
tains no  small  number  of  large  commodious  houses, 
in  which,  five,  ten,  twenty  thousand  a  year  may  be 
spent  with  consistency  and  decorum  ;  and  of  the 
furniture  of  each  shall  no  part  be  pictures  ?  Bare 
walls  in  the  houses  of  wealthy  men  betray  a  poorness 
of  spirit.  Let  them  go  to  my  friend  Martin. 

CHRISTOPHER   NORTH. 


MARJORY  MUSHROOM  WRITES  TO  '  THE 
LOUNGER ' 

EDINBURGH, 

February  25,  1786. 

SIR, 

I  troubled  you  some  time  ago  with  a  letter 
from  the  country  ;  now  that  I  am  come  to  town,  I 
use  the  freedom  to  write  to  you  again.  I  find  the 
same  difficulty  in  being  happy,  with  every  thing  to 
make  me  so  here  as  there.  When  I  tell  this  to  my 
country  friends,  they  won't  believe  me.  Lord  !  to 
see  how  the  Miss  Homespuns  looked  when  they  came 
to  take  leave  of  me  the  morning  we  set  out  for  Edin- 
burgh ;  I  had  just  put  on  my  new  riding-habit  which 
my  brother  fetched  me  from  London  ;  and  my  hat, 
with  two  green  and  three  white  feathers  ;  and  Miss 
Jessy  Homespun  admired  it  so  much  ;  and  when  I 
let  her  put  it  on,  she  looked  in  the  glass,  and  said  with 
a  sigh,  how  charming  it  was  !  I  had  such  a  head- 
ache with  it  all  the  morning,  but  I  kept  that  to 
myself.  '  And  do,  my  dear,  (said  she)  write  to  us 


216          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

poor  moping  creatures  in  the  country.  But  you 
won't  have  leisure  to  think  of  us  ;  you  will  be  so 
happy,  and  so  much  amused.'  At  that  moment 
my  brother's  post  coach  rattled  up  to  the  door,  and 
the  poor  Homespuns  cried  so  when  we  parted  !  To 
be  sure,  they  thought  a  town  life,  with  my  brother's 
fortune  to  procure  all  its  amusements,  must  be  quite 
delightful.  Now,  sir,  to  let  you  know  how  I  found  it. 
I  was  content  to  be  lugged  about  by  my  sister  for 
the  first  week  or  two,  as  I  knew  that  in  a  large  town 
I  should  be  like  a  fish  out  of  water,  as  the  saying  is. 
But  my  sister-in-law  was  always  putting  me  in  mind 
of  my  ignorance  :  '  and  you  country-girls, — and  we 
who  have  been  in  London, — and  we  who  have  been 
abroad.'  However,  between  ourselves,  I  don't  find 
that  she  knows  quite  so  much  as  she  would  make  me 
believe.  .  .  .  We  have  got  masters  that  come  in  to 
give  us  lessons  in  French,  and  music,  and  dancing. 
The  two  first  I  can  submit  to  very  well.  I  could 
always  get  my  tongue  readily  enough  about  any 
thing  ;  and  I  could  play  pretty  well  on  the  virginals 
at  home,  though  my  master  says  my  fingering  is 
not  what  it  should  be.  But  the  dancing  is  terrible 
business.  My  sister-in-law  and  I  are  put  into  the 
stocks  every  morning  to  teach  us  the  right  position 
of  our  feet ;  and  all  the  steps  I  was  praised  for  in  the 
country  are  now  good  for  nothing,  as  the  cotillon 
step  is  the  only  thing  fit  for  people  of  fashion  ;  and 
so  we  are  twisted  and  twirled  till  my  joints  ache 
again  ;  and  after  all,  we  make,  I  believe,  a  very  bad 
figure  at  it.  Indeed,  I  have  not  yet  ventured  to  try 
my  hand,  my  feet  I  mean,  before  any  body.  But  my 
sister-in-law,  who  is  always  praised  for  every  thing 
she  does,  would  needs  try  her  cotillon  steps  at  the 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  217 

assembly  ;  and  her  partner,  Captain  Coupee,  a  con- 
stant visitor  at  my  brother's,  told  her  what  an 
admirable  dancer  she  was  ;  but  in  truth  she  was  out 
of  time  every  instant,  and  I  heard  the  people  titter- 
ing at  her  country  fling  as  they  called  it.  And  so  in 
the  same  manner  the  captain  one  day  at  our  house 
swore  she  sung  like  an  angel  (drinking  her  health  in 
a  bumper  of  my  brother's  champagne) ;  and  yet  as  I 
walked  behind  him  next  morning  in  Princes  Street,  I 
overheard  him  saying  to  one  of  his  companions,  that 
Mushroom's  dinners  were  damn'd  good  things,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  bore  of  the  singing  ;  and  that  the 
little  Nabobina  squalled  like  a  peahen.  .  .  . 

Here,  as  before,  comme  il  faut  is  still  held  out  as 
a  law  to  us.  We  have  besides  got  another  phrase, 
which  is  perpetually  dinned  into  my  ears  by  my 
sister-in-law,  and  that  is  ton.  Such  a  person  is  a 
very  good  kind  of  person,  but  such  another  is  more 
the  ton  :  such  a  lady  is  handsomer,  more  witty,  more 
polite,  and  more  good-humoured  than  another ; 
but  that  other  is  much  more  the  ton.  I  have  often 
asked  my  sister,  and  even  my  French  master,  to 
explain  the  meaning  of  this  word  ton  ;  but  they  have 
told  me  there  was  no  translation  for  it.  I  think, 
however,  I  have  found  it  out  to  be  a  very  convenient 
thing  for  some  people.  Tis  like  what  my  grand- 
father, who  was  a  great  admirer  of  John  Knox,  used 
to  tell  of  popish  indulgences  :  folks  who  are  the  ton 
may  do  any  thing  they  like,  without  being  in  the 
wrong  ;  and  every  thing  that  is  the  ton  is  right,  let 
it  be  what  it  will.  ...  I  can't  help  often  secretly 
wishing  I  were  back  again  at  my  father's,  where  I 
should  not  be  obliged  to  be  happy  whether  I  would 
or  not. — Yours,  etc.,  MARJORY  MUSHROOM. 


2i8          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Later. 
SIR, 

Here  (at  home)  I  have  much  more  time  to 
write  ;  but,  unfortunately,  I  have  fewer  subjects  ; 
and  those  too  none  of  the  most  enlivening.  ...  I 
find  my  time  hang  very  heavy  on  my  hands  ;  though 
I  try  all  I  can  to  coax  away  a  great  part  of  the  day. 
As  I  am  a  person  of  some  consequence  since  my  late 
journey  (to  Edinburgh),  they  indulge  me  a  good  deal 
in  the  disposal  of  my  time,  even  though  it  sometimes 
runs  a  little  cross  to  the  regularity  of  theirs  ;  only 
my  father  growls  now  and  then  ;  but  we  don't  mind 
that  much.  I  seldom  rise  till  near  eleven,  and 
generally  breakfast  in  bed.  I  read  the  newspapers 
my  brother  sends  down,  all  except  the  politics.  I 
stroll  out  between  one  and  three ;  then,  if  I  dress, 
or  perhaps  alter  the  set  of  my  cap,  or  change  my 
feathers  before  the  glass,  I  am  seldom  ready  till  long 
past  dinner-time  ;  they  put  it  back  an  hour  ever 
since  my  brother  first  came  home.  In  the  evening 
I  play  the  new  minuets,  teach  my  sisters  cards,  or  we 
guess  the  riddles  in  the  Lady's  Magazine  ;  and  I  think 
of  the  promenade  in  Princes  Street,  and  of  Dunn's 
rooms,  and  of  being  in  Edinburgh  next  winter  if  I 
can.  Believe  me,  I  am,  whether  in  town  or  country, 
your  constant  reader  and  admirer,  MARJORY  MUSH- 
ROOM. 

HENRY  MACKENZIE. 

'  THE  LOUNGER  '   IN  EDINBURGH 

February  26,  1785. — At  an  assembly  at  which  I  hap- 
pened to  be  present  a  few  nights  ago,  my  notice  was 
peculiarly  attracted  by  a  gentleman  with  what  is 
called  a  fresh  look  for  his  age,  dressed  in  a  claret- 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  219 

coloured  coat,  with  gold  buttons,  of  a  cut  not  alto- 
gether modern,  an  embroidered  waistcoat  with  very 
large  flaps,  a  major  wig,  long  ruffles  nicely  plaited 
(that  looked,  however,  as  if  the  fashion  had  come  to 
them  rather  than  that  they  had  been  made  for  the 
fashion)  ;  his  white-silk  stockings  ornamented  with 
figured  clocks,  and  his  shoes  with  high  insteps, 
buckled  with  small  round  gold  buckles.  His  sword, 
with  a  silver  hilt  somewhat  tarnished,  I  might  have 
thought  only  an  article  of  his  dress,  had  not  a  cockade 
in  his  hat  marked  him  for  a  military  man.  It  was 
some  time  before  I  was  able  to  find  out  who  he  was, 
till  my  friend  Mr.  S.  informed  me  he  was  a  very 
worthy  relation  of  his,  who  had  not  been  in  town 
above  twice  these  forty  years  ;  that  an  accidental 
piece  of  business  had  lately  brought  him  from  his 
house  in  the  country,  and  he  had  been  prevailed  on 
to  look  on  the  ladies  of  Edinburgh  at  two  or  three 
public  places  before  he  went  home  again,  that  he 
might  see  whether  they  were  as  handsome  as  their 
mothers  and  grandmothers,  whom  he  had  danced 
with  at  balls,  and  squired  to  plays  and  concerts,  near 
half  a  century  ago.  '  He  was,'  continued  my  friend, 
'  a  professed  admirer  and  votary  of  sex  ;  and  when  he 
was  a  young  man  fought  three  duels  for  the  honour 
of  the  ladies,  in  one  of  which  he  was  run  through  the 
body,  but  luckily  escaped  with  his  life.  The  lady, 
however,  for  whom  he  fought,  did  not  reward  her 
knight  as  she  ought  to  have  done,  but  soon  after 
married  another  man  with  a  larger  fortune  ;  upon 
which  he  forswore  society  in  a  great  measure,  and 
though  he  continued  for  several  years  to  do  his  duty 
in  the  army,  and  actually  rose  to  the  rank  of 
lieutenant-colonel,  mixed  but  little  in  the  world, 


220          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

and  has  for  a  long  space  of  time  resided  at  his  estate 
a  determined  bachelor,  and  with  somewhat  of  mis- 
anthropy, and  a  great  deal  of  good-nature  about 
him.  If  you  please,  I  will  introduce  you  to  him — 
Colonel  Caustic,  this  is  a  very  particular  friend  of  mine, 
who  solicits  the  honour  of  being  known  to  you.' 

April  9,  1785. — Some  weeks  ago,  a  piece  of  im- 
portant family  business  brought  me  to  town.  The 
morning  after  I  arrived,  I  sent  for  a  tailor,  wishing  to 
make  a  decent  appearance  in  your  city ;  which,  by 
the  way,  I  found  so  much  changed  since  I  had  left 
it,  that  till  I  got  into  what  is  called  the  Old  Town, 
I  did  not  know  where  I  was,  and  could  not  recognize 
the  ancient  dusky  capital  of  Caledonia.  As  I  was 
at  no  time  very  attentive  to  dress,  and  as  now  I  only 
wished  to  comply  so  far  with  the  fashion  of  the 
times  as  not  to  offend  those  with  whom  I  was  to 
mingle  in  society,  I  desired  my  tailor  to  make  me  a 
plain  suit  of  clothes,  leaving  the  choice  of  the  colour, 
etc.,  entirely  to  him.  Next  day,  he  brought  me  home 
a  blue  frock,  a  scarlet  waistcoat,  with  gold  buttons, 
and  a  pair  of  black  silk  breeches.  I  could  not  help 
observing,  that  I  should  have  preferred  a  plain  suit, 
all  of  a  piece,  to  the  parti-coloured  garment  in 
which  he  had  decked  me.  But  he  shut  my  mouth, 
by  saying,  that  it  was  quite  the  fashion  ;  that  every- 
body wore  it.  ...  Being  engaged  to  dine  at  the  house 
of  a  gentleman  high  in  office,  I  dressed  myself  in  my 
new  suit ;  and  when  I  joined  the  company,  which  was 
numerous,  I  found  that  my  tailor  had  done  me 
justice,  almost  everybody  being  precisely  in  the 
same  dress  ;  and  some  of  the  guests  were  of  the  first 
distinction.  Next  day  I  went  to  dine  at  the  house 
of  Lord ,  to  whom  I  have  the  honour  of  being 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  221 

related.  I  found  assembled  here  a  large  company 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Soon  after  I  entered  the 
room  we  were  called  to  dinner  ;  and  at  table  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  placed  next  to  the  beautiful 

and  sprightly  Lady .     As  upon  the  former  day, 

so  here,  the  conversation  soon  turned  upon  the 
present  administration  ;  but,  to  my  no  small  astonish- 
ment, the  opinion  of  every  person  present  was  in  every 
particular  directly  opposite  to  every  opinion  I  had 
heard  the  day  before.  ...  I  ventured  to  ask  Lady 

what  objection  she  had  to  Mr.  Pitt  ?     '  O,  I 

can't  bear  him,'  said  she,  '  he  does  not  like  us ;  and 
the  only  mark  of  attention  he  ever  paid  us  was  im- 
posing an  odious  burden  upon  our  ruffes  and  aprons.' 
At  that  instant  I  happened  to  unbutton  my  coat,  and 

Lady  immediately  exclaimed,   '  Lord,  sir,  are 

you  a  Pittite  ?  I  took  you  for  one  of  us.'  I,  though 
surprised  at  the  question,  answered  gravely,  that  I 
was  more  a  Pittite  than  a  Hittite.  '  Then,  sir,  why 
do  you  wear  a  red  waistcoat  ?  I  am  sick  at  the  very 
sight  of  it.  Why  are  you  not  in  buff  ?  I  would  not 
give  a  farthing  for  a  man  but  in  buff.'  This  observa- 
tion called  my  attention  to  the  dress  of  the  gentlemen 
at  table,  and  I  found  that  all  of  them  were  dressed 
in  buff  waistcoats,  to  which  some  of  them,  who 
appeared  to  be  most  zealous  in  their  political  prin- 
ciples, had  added  buff  breeches.  ...  In  short,  sir, 
I  now  find  that  the  good  people  of  your  town  are 
divided  into  two  opposite  parties,  and  that  a  spirit 
of  faction  universally  prevails.  ...  It  is  with  pleasure 
I  remark,  that  the  ladies  of  Edinburgh  have  contented 
themselves  with  such  little  eccentricities  of  appearance, 
and  never  indulged  in  those  excesses  which  prevail  in 
other  parts  of  the  island,  particularly  in  the  capital. 


222          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

May  7,  1785. — A  person  who,  after  living  a  number 
of  years  in  retirement,  returns  again  into  society,  is 
somewhat  in  the  situation  of  the  foreigner.  Like 
him,  he  is  apt  to  be  misled  by  prejudices  ;  but,  like 
him  too,  he  remarks  many  things  which  escape  the 
observation  of  those  whose  sensations  are  blunted  by 
habit,  and  whose  attention  is  less  awake  to  the  objects 
around  them.  It  was  this  that  afforded  me  so  much 
amusement  in  the  conversation  of  my  new  acquaint- 
ance, Colonel  Caustic.  Like  the  Sleepers,  when  they 
entered  the  city  of  Ephesus,  Colonel  Caustic,  on 
coming  to  Edinburgh  after  forty  years'  residence  in 
the  country,  found  a  total  change  in  the  appearance, 
in  the  dress,  the  manners,  and  the  customs  of  its  in- 
habitants. Every  man,  perhaps,  at  an  advanced  age, 
is  more  or  less  a  laudator  temporis  acti,  and  naturally 
feels  a  predilection  for  those  happy  days  when 
novelty  added  to  the  charms  of  life,  and  gave  a  zest 
to  every  enjoyment.  .  .  .  The  conversation  soon 
turned  upon  the  improvements  of  this  city.  Mr.  B. 
spoke  with  much  fluency  on  this  subject ;  and, 
addressing  himself  to  Colonel  Caustic,  observed  that 
formerly  Edinburgh  was  in  a  manner  uninhabitable  ; 
that  thirty  years  ago  there  was  not  a  house  fit  for  a 
gentleman  to  live  in  ;  that  the  pleasures  of  society 
were  then  unknown  ;  and  that  we  now  only  begin  to 
know  how  to  live.  Colonel  Caustic  admitted,  that 
as  a  town  Edinburgh  no  doubt  was  improved.  '  But 
you  must  forgive  me,'  added  he,  '  for  doubting  if  the 
society  of  Edinburgh  has  improved  in  an  equal  de- 
gree.' '  Unquestionably  it  has,'  said  Mr.  B.  '  You 
must  remember  the  time  when  there  was  not  a  dinner 
to  be  had  in  any  house  in  town  ;  when  the  men  passed 
their  whole  time  in  taverns,  and  the  women  were 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  223 

left  alone,  to  amuse  themselves  as  best  they  could.' 
'  There  is  some  truth  in  the  observation,'  said  Lady 

;  '  but  yet,  upon  the  whole,  those  were  not  bad 

times.'  '  I  agree  with  your  ladyship,'  said  Colonel 
Caustic. 

January  21,  1786. — It  is  possible  that  in  the 
country  they  may  have  given  way  to  some  vulgar 
prejudices,  which  it  were  highly  improper  to  retain 
in  town.  It  may  not  be  amiss,  however,  to  inform 
them,  in  this  place,  what  they  might  otherwise  have 
scrupled  to  believe,  that  the  church  has  of  late  be- 
come a  place  of  fashionable  resort  in  Edinburgh  ;  and 
what  is  still  more  odd,  that  fine  people  actually  attend 
to  the  sermon.  The  eloquence  of  some  of  our 
preachers,  like  the  dagger  of  Macbeth,  has  '  murdered 
sleep  '  there  ;  for  which  reason,  it  will  not  be  so  con- 
venient as  formerly  to  go  thither  after  a  late  supper, 
or  a  long  party  at  whist,  the  night  before. 

HENRY    MACKENZIE. 

MISS  BETTY  AND  HER  EDINBURGH  MANTLE 

IT  happened  that  Miss  Betty  Wudrife,  the  daughter 
of  an  heritor,  had  been  on  a  visit  to  some  of  her 
friends  in  Edinburgh  ;  and,  being  in  at  Edinburgh, 
she  came  out  with  a  fine  mantle,  decked  and  adorned 
with  many  a  ribbon-knot,  such  as  had  never  been 
seen  in  the  parish.  The  Lady  Macadam,  hearing  of 
this  grand  mantle,  sent  to  beg  Miss  Betty  to  lend  it 
to  her,  to  make  a  copy  for  young  Mrs.  Macadam. 
But  Miss  Betty  was  so  vogie  [vain]  with  her  gay 
mantle  that  she  sent  back  word,  it  would  be  making 
it  o'er  common ;  which  so  nettled  the  old  courtly 
lady  that  she  vowed  revenge,  and  said  the  mantle 
would  not  be  long  seen  on  Miss  Betty.  Nobody 


224          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

knew  the  meaning  of  her  words  ;  but  she  sent  pri- 
vately for  Miss  Sabrina,  the  schoolmistress,  who  was 
aye  proud  of  being  invited  to  my  lady's,  where  she 
went  on  the  Sabbath  night  to  drink  tea,  and  to  read 
Thomson's  Seasons  and  Hervey's  Meditations  for  her 
ladyship's  recreation.  Between  the  two  a  secret 
plot  was  laid  against  Miss  Betty  and  her  Edinburgh 
mantle  ;  and  Miss  Sabrina,  in  a  very  treacherous 
manner,  for  the  which  I  afterwards  chided  her 
severely,  went  to  Miss  Betty,  and  got  a  sight  of  the 
mantle,  and  how  it  was  made,  and  all  about  it,  until 
she  was  in  a  capacity  to  make  another  like  it ;  by 
which  my  lady  and  she,  from  old  silk  and  satin 
negligees  which  her  ladyship  had  worn  at  the  French 
court,  made  up  two  mantles  of  the  self-same  fashion 
as  Miss  Betty's,  and,  if  possible,  more  sumptuously 
garnished,  but  in  a  flagrant  fool  way.  On  the  Sunday 
morning  after,  her  ladyship  sent  for  Jenny  Gaffaw, 
and  her  daft  daughter  Meg,  and  showed  them  the 
mantles,  and  said  she  would  give  them  half  a  crown  if 
they  would  go  with  them  to  the  kirk,  and  take  their 
place  in  the  bench  beside  the  elders,  and,  after  wor- 
ship, walk  home  before  Miss  Betty  Wudrife.  The 
two  poor  natural  things  were  just  transported  with 
the  sight  of  such  bravery,  and  needed  no  other  bribe  ; 
so,  over  their  bits  of  ragged  duds,  they  put  on  the 
pageantry,  and  walked  away  to  the  kirk  like  pea- 
cocks, and  took  their  place  on  the  bench,  to  the  great 
diversion  of  the  whole  congregation. 

I  had  no  suspicion  of  this,  and  had  prepared  an 
affecting  discourse  about  the  horrors  of  war,  in  which 
I  touched,  with  a  tender  hand,  on  the  troubles  that 
threatened  families  and  kindred  in  America  ;  but  all 
the  time  I  was  preaching,  doing  my  best,  and  ex- 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  225 

patiating  till  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes,  I  could  not 
divine  what  was  the  cause  of  the  inattention  of  my 
people.  For  the  two  vain  haverels  were  on  the  bench 
under  me,  and  I  could  not  see  them  ;  and  there  they 
sat,  spreading  their  feathers  and  picking  their  wings, 
stroking  down  and  setting  right  their  finery,  with 
such  an  air  as  no  living  soul  could  see  and  withstand, 
while  every  eye  in  the  kirk  was  now  on  them,  and 
now  on  Miss  Betty  Wudrife,  who  was  in  a  worse 
situation  than  if  she  had  been  on  the  stool  of  re- 
pentance. 

Greatly  grieved  with  the  little  heed  that  was  paid 
to  my  discourse,  I  left  the  pulpit  with  a  heavy  heart. 
But  when  I  came  out  into  the  kirkyard,  and  saw  the 
two  antics, — linking  like  ladies,  and  aye  keeping  in 
the  way  before  Miss  Betty,  and  looking  back  and 
around  in  their  pride  and  admiration,  with  high 
heads  and  a  wonderful  pomp, — I  was  really  over- 
come, and  could  not  keep  my  gravity,  and  laughed 
loud  out  among  the  graves,  and  in  the  face  of  all  my 
people  ;  who,  seeing  how  I  was  vanquished  in  that 
unguarded  moment  by  my  enemy,  made  a  universal 
and  most  unreverent  breach  of  all  decorum,  at  which 
Miss  Betty,  who  had  been  the  cause  of  all,  ran  into 
the  first  open  door,  and  almost  fainted  away  with 
mortification. 

This  affair  was  regarded  by  the  elders  as  a  sinful 
trespass  on  the  orderliness  that  was  needful  in  the 
Lord's  house  ;  and  they  called  on  me  at  the  manse 
that  night,  and  said  it  would  be  a  guilty  connivance 
if  I  did  not  rebuke  and  admonish  Lady  Macadam  of 
the  evil  of  her  way ; — for  they  had  questioned  daft 
Jenny,  and  had  got  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  plot 
and  mischief.  I,  who  knew  her  ladyship's  light  way, 

15 


226          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

would  fain  have  had  the  elders  to  overlook  it  rather 
than  expose  myself  to  her  tantrums  ;  but  they  con- 
sidered the  thing  as  a  great  scandal,  so  that  I  was 
obligated  to  conform  to  their  wishes.  I  might  have 
as  well  stayed  at  home,  however,  for  her  ladyship  was 
in  one  of  her  jocose  humours  when  I  went  to  speak  to 
her  on  the  subject,  and  it  was  so  far  from  my  power 
to  make  a  proper  impression  on  her  of  the  enormity 
that  had  been  committed  that  she  made  me  laugh, 
in  spite  of  my  reason,  at  the  fantastical  drollery  of 
her  malicious  prank  on  Miss  Betty  Wudrife. 

It  did  not  end  here,  however ;  for  the  Session, 
knowing  that  it  was  profitless  to  speak  to  the  daft 
mother  and  daughter,  who  had  been  the  instru- 
ments, gave  orders  to  Willy  Howking,  the  betheral, 
not  to  let  them  again  so  far  into  the  kirk  ;  and 
Willy,  having  scarcely  more  sense  than  them  both, 
thought  proper  to  keep  them  out  next  Sunday  alto- 
gether. The  twa  said  nothing  at  the  time ;  but  the 
adversary  was  busy  with  them,  for,  on  the  Wednesday 
following,  there  being  a  meeting  of  the  synod  at  Ayr, 
to  my  utter  amazement  the  mother  and  daughter 
made  their  appearance  there  in  all  their  finery,  and 
raised  a  complaint  against  me  and  the  Session  for 
debarring  them  from  church  privileges.  No  stage 
play  could  have  produced  such  an  effect.  I  was  per- 
fectly dumfoundered ;  and  every  member  of  the 
synod  might  have  been  tied  with  a  straw,  they  were 
so  overcome  with  this  new  device  of  that  endless 
woman,  (when  bent  on  provocation),  the  Lady 
Macadam.  In  her  the  saying  was  verified,  Old  folk 
are  twice  bairns  ;  for  in  such  plays,  pranks,  and  pro- 
jects, she  was  as  play  rife  as  a  very  lassie  at  her 
sampler  ;  and  this  is  but  a  swatch  to  what  lengths 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  227 

she  would  go.  The  complaint  was  dismissed ;  by 
which  the  Session  and  me  were  assoilzied.  But  I'll 
never  forget  till  the  day  of  my  death  what  I  suffered 
on  that  occasion, — to  be  so  put  to  the  wall  by  two 
born  idiots  ! 

JOHN    GALT. 


AN  EDINBURGH  HIGH  SCHOOL 

THERE  is  in  this  place,  which  everybody  talks  about — 
the  High  School,  I  think  they  call  it.  'Tis  said  to  be 
the  best  school  in  the  whole  island  ;  but  the  idea  of 
one's  children  speaking  Scotch — broad  Scotch  !  .  .  . 
Let  me  call  thee  up  before  my  mind's  eye,  High 
School,  to  which,  every  morning,  the  two  English 
brothers  took  their  way  from  the  proud  old  Castle 
through  the  lofty  streets  of  the  Old  Town.  High 
School  ! — called  so,  I  scarcely  know  why  ;  neither 
lofty  in  thyself  nor  by  position,  being  situated  in  a 
flat  bottom  ;  oblong  structure  of  tawny  stone,  with 
many  windows  fenced  with  iron  netting — with  thy 
long  hall  below,  and  thy  five  chambers  above,  for 
the  reception  of  the  five  classes,  into  which  the  eight 
hundred  urchins,  who  styled  thee  instructress,  were 
divided.  Thy  learned  rector  and  his  four  sub- 
ordinate dominies  ;  thy  strange  old  porter  of  the  tall 
form  and  grizzled  hair,  hight  Boee,  and  doubtless  of 
Norse  ancestry,  as  his  name  declares  ;  perhaps  of  the 
blood  of  Bui  hin  Digri,  the  hero  of  northern  song — 
the  Jomsborg  Viking  who  clove  Thorsteinn  Midlaagr 
asunder  in  the  dread  sea  battle  of  Horunga  Vog,  and 
who,  when  the  fight  was  lost  and  his  own  two  hands 
smitten  off,  seized  two  chests  of  gold  with  his  bloody 
stumps,  and,  springing  with  them  into  the  sea,  cried 

15-3 


228          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

to  the  scanty  relics  of  his  crew,  '  Overboard  now,  all 
Bui's  lads  !'  Yes,  I  remember  all  about  thee,  and 
how  at  eight  of  every  morn  we  were  all  gathered 
together  with  one  accord  in  the  long  hall,  from  which, 
after  the  litanies  had  been  read  (for  so  I  will  call  them, 
being  an  Episcopalian),  the  five  classes  from  the  five 
sets  of  benches  trotted  off  in  long  files,  one  boy  after 
the  other,  up  the  five  spiral  staircases  of  stone,  each 
class  to  its  destination  ;  and  well  do  I  remember  how 
we  of  the  third  sat  hushed  and  still,  watched  by  the 
eye  of  the  dux,  until  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked 
that  model  of  a  good  Scotchman,  the  shrewd,  in- 
telligent, but  warm-hearted  and  kind  dominie,  the 
respectable  Carson. 

And  in  this  school  I  began  to  construe  the  Latin 
language,  which  I  had  never  done  before,  notwith- 
standing my  long  and  diligent  study  of  Lilly,  which 
illustrious  grammar  was  not  used  at  Edinburgh,  nor 
indeed  known.  Greek  was  only  taught  in  the  fifth 
or  highest  class,  in  which  my  brother  was  ;  as  for 
myself,  I  never  got  beyond  the  third  during  the  two 
years  that  I  remained  at  this  seminary.  I  certainly 
acquired  here  a  considerable  insight  in  the  Latin 
tongue  ;  and,  to  the  scandal  of  my  father  and  horror 
of  my  mother,  a  thorough  proficiency  in  the  Scotch, 
which,  in  less  than  two  months,  usurped  the  place  of 
the  English,  and  so  obstinately  maintained  its  ground, 
that  I  still  can  occasionally  detect  its  lingering  re- 
mains. I  did  not  spend  my  time  unpleasantly  at 
this  school,  though,  first  of  all,  I  had  to  pass  through 
an  ordeal. 

'  Scotland  is  a  better  country  than  England,'  said 
an  ugly,  blear-eyed  lad,  about  a  head  and  shoulders 
taller  than  myself,  the  leader  of  a  gang  of  varlets  who 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  229 

surrounded  me  in  the  playground,  on  the  first  day, 
as  soon  as  the  morning  lesson  was  over.  '  Scotland 
is  a  far  better  country  than  England,  in  every  re- 
spect.' 

'  Is  it  ?'  said  I.  '  Then  you  ought  to  be  very  thank- 
ful for  not  having  been  born  in  England.' 

'  That's  just  what  I  am,  ye  loon  ;  and  every  morn- 
ing when  I  say  my  prayers,  I  thank  God  for  not  being 
an  Englishman.  The  Scotch  are  a  much  better  and 
braver  people  than  the  English.' 

'  It  may  be  so,'  said  I,  'for  what  I  know — indeed, 
till  I  came  here,  I  never  heard  a  word  either  about 
the  Scotch  or  their  country.' 

'  Are  ye  making  fun  of  us,  ye  English  puppy  ?' 
said  the  blear-eyed  lad  ;  '  take  that  !'  and  I  was 
presently  beaten  black  and  blue.  And  thus  did  I 
first  become  aware  of  the  difference  of  races  and  their 
antipathy  to  each  other. 

'  Bow  to  the  storm,  and  it  shall  pass  over  you.'  I 
held  my  peace,  and  silently  submitted  to  the  superi- 
ority of  the  Scotch — in  numbers.  This  was  enough  ; 
from  an  object  of  persecution  I  soon  became  one  of 
patronage,  especially  amongst  the  champions  of  the 
class.  '  The  English,'  said  the  blear  -  eyed  lad, 
'  though  a  wee  bit  behind  the  Scotch  in  strength  and 
fortitude,  are  nae  to  be  sneezed  at,  being  far  ahead  of 
the  Irish,  to  say  nothing  of  the  French,  a  pack  of 
cowardly  scoundrels.  And  with  regard  to  the 
English  country,  it  is  na  Scotland,  it  is  true,  but  it 
has  its  gude  properties  ;  and,  though  there  is  ne'er 
a  haggis  in  a'  the  land,  there's  an  unco  deal  o'  gowd 
and  siller.  I  respect  England,  for  I  have  an  auntie 
married  there.'  .  .  . 

But,  the  Scotch — though  by  no  means  proficients  in 


230          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

boxing  (and  how  should  they  box,  seeing  that  they 
have  never  had  a  teacher  ?) — are,  I  repeat,  a  most 
pugnacious  people  ;  at  least  they  were  in  my  time. 
Anything  served  them,  that  is,  the  urchins,  as  a 
pretence  for  a  fray,  or,  Dorically  speaking,  a  bicker  ; 
every  street  and  close  was  at  feud  with  its  neighbour  ; 
the  lads  of  the  school  were  at  feud  with  the  young 
men  of  the  college,  whom  they  pelted  in  winter  with 
snow,  and  in  summer  with  stones  ;  and  then  the  feud 
between  the  Old  and  New  Town  ! 

One  day  I  was  standing  on  the  ramparts  of  the 
castle  on  the  south-western  side  which  overhangs  the 
green  brae,  where  it  slopes  down  into  what  was  in 
those  days  the  green  swamp  or  morass,  called  by  the 
natives  of  Auld  Reekie  the  Nor  Loch  ;  it  was  a  dark 
gloomy  day,  a  thin  veil  of  mist  was  beginning  to 
settle  down  upon  the  brae  and  the  morass.  I  could 
perceive,  however,  that  there  was  a  skirmish  taking 
place  in  the  latter  spot ;  I  had  an  indistinct  view  of 
two  parties — apparently  of  urchins — and  I  heard 
whoops  and  shrill  cries  :  eager  to  know  the  cause  of 
this  disturbance,  I  left  the  castle,  and  descending  the 
brae  reached  the  borders  of  the  morass,  where  was  a 
runnel  of  water  and  the  remains  of  an  old  wah1,  on 
the  other  side  of  which  a  narrow  path  led  across  the 
swamp  :  upon  this  path  at  a  little  distance  before  me 
there  was  '  a  bicker.'  I  pushed  forward,  but  had 
scarcely  crossed  the  ruined  wall  and  runnel,  when  the 
party  nearest  to  me  gave  way,  and  in  great  confusion 
came  running  in  my  direction.  As  they  drew  nigh, 
one  of  them  shouted  to  me,  '  Wha  are  ye,  mon  ?  are 
ye  o'  the  Auld  Toon  ?'  I  made  no  answer.  '  Ha  ! 
ye  are  of  the  New  Toon  ;  De'il  tak  ye,  we'll  murder 
ye ;'  and  the  next  moment  a  huge  stone  sung  past 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  231 

my  head.  '  Let  me  be,  ye  fule  bodies,'  said  I,  '  I'm 
no  of  either  of  ye,  I  live  yonder  aboon  in  the  castle.' 
'  Ah  !  ye  live  in  the  castle  ;  then  ye' re  an  auld  tooner  ; 
come  gie  us  your  help,  man,  and  dinna  stand  there 
staring  like  a  dunnot,  we  want  help  sair  eneugh. 
Here  are  stanes.' 

For  my  own  part  I  wished  for  nothing  better,  and, 
rushing  forward,  I  placed  myself  at  the  head  of  my 
new  associates,  and  commenced  flinging  stones  fast 
and  desperately.  The  other  party  now  gave  way 
in  their  turn,  closely  followed  by  ourselves  ;  I  was  in 
the  van,  and  about  to  stretch  out  my  hand  to  seize 
the  hindermost  boy  of  the  enemy,  when,  not  being 
acquainted  with  the  miry  and  difficult  paths  of  the 
Nor  Loch,  and  in  my  eagerness  taking  no  heed  of  my 
footing,  I  plunged  into  a  quagmire,  into  which  I  sank 
as  far  as  my  shoulders.  Our  adversaries  no  sooner 
perceived  this  disaster,  than,  setting  up  a  shout,  they 
wheeled  round  and  attacked  us  most  vehemently. 
Had  my  comrades  now  deserted  me,  my  life  had  not 
been  worth  a  straw's  purchase  ;  I  should  either  have 
been  smothered  in  the  quag,  or,  what  is  more  prob- 
able, had  my  brains  beaten  out  with  stones  ;  but  they 
behaved  like  true  Scots,  and  fought  stoutly  around 
their  comrade,  until  I  was  extricated,  whereupon 
both  parties  retired,  the  night  being  near  at  hand. 

'  Ye  are  na  a  bad  hand  at  flinging  stanes,'  said  the 
lad  who  first  addressed  me,  as  we  now  returned  up 
the  brae  ;  '  your  aim  is  right  dangerous,  mon,  I  saw 
how  ye  skelpit  them,  ye  maun  help  us  agin  thae  New 
Toon  blackguards  at  our  next  bicker.' 

So  to  the  next  bicker  I  went,  and  to  many  more, 
which  speedily  followed  as  the  summer  advanced ; 
the  party  to  which  I  had  given  my  help  on  the  first 


232          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

occasion  consisted  merely  of  outlyers,  posted  about 
half  way  up  the  hill,  for  the  purpose  of  overlooking 
the  movements  of  the  enemy. 

Did  the  latter  draw  nigh  in  any  considerable  force, 
messengers  were  forthwith  despatched  to  the  '  auld 
toon/  especially  to  the  filthy  alleys  and  closes  of  the 
High  Street,  which  forthwith  would  disgorge  swarms 
of  bare-headed  and  bare-footed  '  callants/  who,  with 
gestures  wild  and  '  eldrich  screech  and  hollo/  might 
frequently  be  seen  pouring  down  the  sides  of  the  hill. 
I  have  seen  upwards  of  a  thousand  engaged  on  either 
side  in  these  frays,  which  I  have  no  doubt  were  full 
as  desperate  as  the  fights  described  in  the  Iliad, 
and  which  were  certainly  much  more  bloody  than 
the  combats  of  modern  Greece  in  the  war  of  inde- 
pendence ;  the  callants  not  only  employed  their 
hands  in  hurling  stones,  but  not  unfrequently  slings  ; 
at  the  use  of  which  they  were  very  expert,  and 
which  occasionally  dislodged  teeth,  shattered  jaws, 
or  knocked  out  an  eye.  Our  opponents  certainly 
laboured  under  considerable  disadvantage,  being 
compelled  not  only  to  wade  across  a  deceitful  bog,  but 
likewise  to  clamber  up  part  of  a  steep  hill  before  they 
could  attack  us  ;  nevertheless,  their  determination 
was  such,  and  such  their  impetuosity,  that  we  had 
sometimes  difficulty  enough  to  maintain  our  own. 
I  shall  never  forget  one  bicker,  the  last  indeed  which 
occurred  at  that  time,  as  the  authorities  of  the  town, 
alarmed  by  the  desperation  of  its  character,  stationed 
forthwith  a  body  of  police  on  the  hill  side,  to  prevent, 
in  future,  any  such  breaches  of  the  peace. 

It  was  a  beautiful  Sunday  evening,  the  rays  of  the 
descending  sun  were  reflected  redly  from  the  grey 
walls  of  the  castle,  and  from  the  black  rocks  on  which 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  233 

it  was  founded.  The  bicker  had  long  since  com- 
menced, stones  from  sling  and  hand  were  flying  ; 
but  the  callants  of  the  New  Town  were  now  carrying 
everything  before  them. 

A  full-grown  baker's  apprentice  was  at  their  head  ; 
he  was  foaming  with  rage,  and  had  taken  the  field, 
as  I  was  told,  in  order  to  avenge  his  brother,  whose 
eye  had  been  knocked  out  in  one  of  the  late  bickers 
He  was  no  slinger  or  flinger,  but  brandished  in  his 
right  hand  the  spoke  of  a  cart-wheel,  like  my  country- 
man Tom  Hickathrift  of  old  in  his  encounter  with  the 
giant  of  the  Lincolnshire  fen.  Protected  by  a  piece 
of  wicker-work  attached  to  his  left  arm,  he  rushed  on 
to  the  fray,  disregarding  the  stones  which  were 
showered  against  him,  and  was  ably  seconded  by  his 
followers.  Our  own  party  was  chased  half  way  up 
the  hill,  where  I  was  struck  to  the  ground  by  the 
baker,  after  having  been  foiled  in  an  attempt  which  I 
had  made  to  fling  a  handful  of  earth  into  his  eyes. 
All  now  appeared  lost,  the  Auld  Toon  was  in  full  re- 
treat. I  myself  lay  at  the  baker's  feet,  who  had  just 
raised  his  spoke,  probably  to  give  me  the  coup  de 
grdce, — it  was  an  awful  moment.  Just  then  I  heard 
a  shout  and  a  rushing  sound  ;  a  wild-looking  figure 
is  descending  the  hill  with  terrible  bounds  ;  it  is  a  lad 
of  some  fifteen  years  ;  he  is  bare-headed,  and  his  red 
uncombed  hair  stands  on  end  like  hedgehogs'  bristles  ; 
his  frame  is  lithy,  like  that  of  an  antelope,  but  he  has 
prodigious  breadth  of  chest ;  he  wears  military  un- 
dress, that  of  the  regiment,  even  of  a  drummer,  for 
it  is  wild  Davy,  whom  a  month  before  I  had  seen 
enlisted  on  Leith  Links  to  serve  King  George  with 
drum  and  drumstick  as  long  as  his  services  might  be 
required,  and  who,  ere  a  week  had  elapsed,  had 


234          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

smitten  with  his  fist  Drum-Major  Elzigood  who, 
incensed  at  his  inaptitude,  had  threatened  him  with 
his  cane  ;  he  has  been  in  confinement  for  weeks,  this 
is  the  first  day  of  his  liberation,  and  he  is  now  de- 
scending the  hill  with  horrid  bounds  and  shoutings  ; 
he  is  now  about  five  yards  distant,  and  the  baker, 
who  apprehends  that  something  dangerous  is  at  hand, 
prepares  himself  for  the  encounter  ;  but  what  avails 
the  strength  of  a  baker,  even  full  grown  ? — what 
avails  the  defence  of  a  wicker  shield  ?  what  avails 
the  wheel-spoke,  should  there  be  an  opportunity  of 
using  it,  against  the  impetus  of  an  avalanche  or  a 
cannon-ball  ? — for  to  either  of  these  might  that  wild 
figure  be  compared,  which,  at  the  distance  of  five 
yards,  sprang  at  once  with  head,  hands,  feet  and 
body,  all  together,  upon  the  champion  of  the  New 
Town,  tumbling  him  to  the  earth  amain.  And  now 
it  was  the  turn  of  the  Old  Town  to  triumph.  Our 
late  discomfited  host,  returning  on  its  steps,  over- 
whelmed the  fallen  champion  with  blows  of  every 
kind,  and  then,  led  on  by  his  vanquisher  who  had 
assumed  his  arms,  namely  the  wheel-spoke  and  wicker 
shield,  fairly  cleared  the  brae  of  their  adversaries, 
whom  they  drove  headlong  down  into  the  morass. 

GEORGE   BORROW. 
TROOPS  LEAVING  EDINBURGH 

FOR  Freedom's  battle  march  Auld  Scotland's  men, 
And  Edinburgh  streets  are  piled  with  life  to-day. 
High  on  her  crags  the  royal  City  sits, 
To  watch  the  files  of  war  far- win  ding  out, 
And  with  the  gracious  golden  Morning  smiles 
Her  proudest  blessing  down. 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  235 

Old  Arthur's  Seat 

Flings  up  his  cap  of  cloud  for  brave  success  ; 
While  the  Sea  flashes  in  the  sun,  our  Shield, 
So  rich  in  record  of  heroic  names  ! 
But  the  old  Castle  standeth  still  and  stern, 
As  some  scarred  Chief  who  sends  his  boys  to  battle  : 
Hath  done  so  many  a  time  as  staidly  calm. 

The  gay  Hussars  come  riding  through  the  Town, 
A  light  of  triumph  sparkling  in  their  eyes  ; 
The  Music  goeth  shouting  in  their  praise, 
Like  a  loud  people  round  the  Victor's  car  ; 
And  Highland  plumes  together  nod  as  though 
There  went  the  Funeral  Hearse  of  a  Russian  host  : 
The  bickering  bayonets  flutter  wings  of  fire, 
And  gaily  sounds  the  March  o'  the  Cameron  Men. 

The  War-steeds  sweeping — men  to  battle  going — 
The  wave  of  Beauty's  hand — meed  of  her  eyes — 
The  kisses  blown  from  dainty  finger-tips — 
The  banners  with  old  battle-memories  stirred — 
The  thrilling  Pibroch,  and  the  wild  war-drum, 
The  stern  sword-music  of  our  grand  Hurrah; 
And  answering  cheer  for  death  or  victory — 
All  make  me  tingle  with  a  triumph  of  life, 
And  I  could  weep  that  I  am  left  behind, 
To  see  the  tide  ebb  where  I  may  not  follow. 
And  there  our  gallant  fellows  march  afield  ; 
To  win  proud  death,  or  larger  life,  they  leave 
Home's  rosy  circle  ringed  with  blessings  rich, 
For  the  far  darkness  and  the  battle-cloud, 
Where  many  have  fall'n,  and  many  yet  must  fall 
In  spurring  their  great  hearts  up  to  the  leap, 
For  such  brave  dashes  at  unconquered  heights. 
The  shadow  of  solemn  Sorrow  falls  behind, 


236          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Where  sobbing  Sweethearts  look  their  loving  last, 

Or  with  tight  lips  hold  in  the  bursting  heart ; 

And  weeping  Wives  lift  up  the  Little  Ones. 

The  sun  sets  in  their  faces,  life  grows  gray, 

And  sighs  of  desolation  sweep  its  desert. 

The  winter  of  the  heart  aches  in  the  eyes 

Of  Mothers  who  have  given  their  all,  their  all. 

And  yet  methinks  the  Heroic  Time  returns, 
Such  look  of  triumph  lit  the  meanest  face 
To-day  :  there  seemed  no  heart  so  earthy  but 
Had  some  blind  gropings  after  nobler  life, 
With  hands  that  reached  toward  God's  Gate  Beau- 
tiful. 

Our  Britain  bright'ning  thro'  the  battle  smoke, 
Has  touched  them  with  her  glory's  lovelier  light. 
And  though  their  darlings  fall,  and  though  they  die 
In  this  death-grapple  in  the  dark  with  Wrong  ; 
The  memory  of  their  proud  deeds  shall  not  die. 
They  may  go  down  to  dust  in  bloody  shrouds, 
And  sleep  in  nameless  tombs.     But  for  all  time, 
Foundlings  of  Fame  are  our  beloved  Lost. 
For  me,  this  day  of  glorious  life  shall  be 
One  of  the  starry  brides  of  Memory, 
Whose  glittering  faces  light  the  night  o'  the  soul. 

GERALD    MASSEY. 


SONG  OF  THE  ROYAL  EDINBURGH  LIGHT 
DRAGOONS 

To  horse  !  to  horse  !  the  standard  flies, 

The  bugles  sound  the  call ; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas, 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze, — 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  all ! 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  237 

From  high  Dun-Edin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true  ; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 
With  Scotland's  hardy  thistle  crowned  ; 

We  boast  the  red  and  blue. 

Though  tamely  crouch  to  Gallia's  frown 

Dull  Holland's  tardy  train  ; 
Their  ravished  toys  though  Romans  mourn, 
Though  gallant  Switzers  vainly  spurn, 

And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain  ; 

Oh  !  had  they  marked  the  avenging  call 

Their  brethren's  murder  gave, 
Disunion  ne'er  their  ranks  had  mown, 
Nor  patriot  valour,  desperate  grown, 

Sought  freedom  in  the  grave  ! 

Shall  we,  too,  bend  the  stubborn  head, 

In  Freedom's  temple  born, 
Dress  our  pale  cheek  in  timid  smile, 
To  hail  a  master  in  our  isle, 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn  ? 

No  !  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pouring  as  a  flood, 
The  sun,  that  sees  our  falling  day, 
Shall  mark  our  sabres'  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

For  gold  let  Gallia's  legions  fight, 

Or  plunder's  bloody  gain  ; 
Unbribed,  unbought,  our  swords  we  draw, 
To  guard  our  King,  to  fence  our  Law, 

Nor  shall  their  edge  be  vain. 


238          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

If  ever  breath  of  British  gale 

Shall  fan  the  tricolor, 
Or  footstep  of  the  invader  rude, 
With  rapine  foul,  and  red  with  blood, 

Pollute  our  happy  shore, — 

Then  farewell,  home  !  and  farewell,  friends  ! 

Adieu,  each  tender  tie  ! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide, 
Where  charging  squadrons  furious  ride, 

To  conquer,  or  to  die. 

To  horse  !  to  horse  !  the  sabres  gleam  ; 

High  sounds  our  bugle  call ; 
Combined  by  honour's  sacred  tie, 
Our  word  is  Laws  and  Liberty  ! 

March  forward,  one  and  all  ! 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


GOLF 

IN  the  fields  called  the  Links,  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh 
divert  themselves  at  a  game  called  golf,  in  which  they 
use  a  curious  kind  of  bat  tipt  with  horn,  and  small 
elastic  balls  of  leather  stuffed  with  feathers,  rather  less 
than  tennis-balls,  but  of  a  much  harder  consistence. 
This  they  strike  with  such  force  and  dexterity  from 
one  hole  to  another,  that  they  will  fly  to  an  incredible 
distance.  Of  this  diversion  the  Scotch  are  so  fond, 
that,  when  the  weather  will  permit,  you  may  see  a 
multitude  of  all  ranks,  from  the  senator  of  justice  to 
the  lowest  tradesman,  mingled  together  in  their  shirts, 
and  following  the  balls  with  the  utmost  eagerness. 
Among  others,  I  was  shown  one  particular  set  of 
golfers,  the  youngest  of  whom  was  turned  four  score. 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  239 

They  were  all  gentlemen  of  independent  fortunes, 
who  had  amused  themselves  with  this  pastime  for  the 
best  part  of  a  century,  without  having  ever  felt  the 
least  alarm  from  sickness  or  disgust,  and  they  never 
went  to  bed  without  having  each  the  best  part  of  a 
gallon  of  claret.  Such  uninterrupted  exercise,  co- 
operating with  the  keen  air  from  the  sea,  must,  with- 
out all  doubt,  keep  the  appetite  always  on  edge,  and 
steel  the  constitution  against  all  the  common  attacks 
of  distemper. 

TOBIAS   SMOLLETT. 


TO  ALEXANDER  CUNNINGHAM,  ESQ., 

WRITER,    EDINBURGH 

MY  god-like  friend — nay,  do  not  stare, 
You  think  the  phrase  is  odd-like  : 

But  '  God  is  Love,'  the  saints  declare, 
Then  surely  thou  art  god-like. 

And  is  thy  ardour  still  the  same  ? 

And  kindled  still  at  Anna  ? 
Others  may  boast  a  partial  flame, 

But  thou  art  a  volcano  ! 

Ev'n  Wedlock  asks  not  love  beyond 
Death's  tie-dissolving  portal ; 

But  thou,  omnipotently  fond, 
May'st  promise  love  immortal ! 

Thy  wounds  such  healing  powers  defy, 
Such  symptoms  dire  attend  them, 

That  last  great  antihectic  try — 
Marriage  perhaps  may  mend  them. 


240          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Sweet  Anna  has  an  air — a  grace, 

Divine,  magnetic,  touching ; 
She  talks,  she  charms — but  who  can  trace 

The  process  of  bewitching  ? 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


LOVE  FROM  THE  NORTH 

I  HAD  a  love  in  soft  south  land, 
Beloved  through  April  far  in  May  ; 

He  waited  on  my  lightest  breath, 
And  never  dared  to  say  me  nay. 

He  saddened  if  my  cheer  was  sad, 

But  gay  he  grew  if  I  was  gay  ; 
We  never  differed  on  a  hair, 

My  yes  his  yes,  my  nay  his  nay. 

The  wedding  hour  was  come,  the  aisles 

Were  flushed  with  sun  and  flowers  that  day  ; 

I  pacing  balanced  in  my  thoughts  : 
'  It's  quite  too  late  to  think  of  nay.' — 

My  bridegroom  answered  in  his  turn, 
Myself  had  almost  answered  '  yea '  : 

When  through  the  flashing  nave  I  heard 
A  struggle  and  resounding  "  nay.' 

Bridesmaids  and  bridegroom  shrank  in  fear, 
But  I  stood  high  who  stood  at  bay  : 

'  And  if  I  answer  yea,  fair  Sir, 
What  man  art  thou  to  bar  with  nay  ?' 

He  was  a  strong  man  from  the  north, 

Light-locked,  with  eyes  of  dangerous  grey  ; 

'  Put  yea  by  for  another  time 
In  which  I  will  not  say  thee  nay.' 


SOME  EDINBURGH  PHASES  241 

He  took  me  in  his  strong  white  arms, 

He  bore  me  on  his  horse  away 
O'er  crag,  morass,  and  hairbreadth  pass, 

But  never  asked  me  yea  or  nay. 

He  made  me  fast  with  book  and  bell, 
With  links  of  love  he  makes  me  stay  ; 

Till  now  I've  neither  heart  nor  power, 
Nor  will  nor  wish  to  say  him  nay. 

CHRISTINA   ROSSETTI. 


WILLIE'S  AWA! 

This  epistle  was  addressed  to  William  Creech,  the  well-known 
Edinburgh  bookseller  and  member  of  the  Town  Council,  during 
his  absence  in  London.  Creech's  quaint  bookshop  at  the 
eastern  end  of  the  Luckenbooth  was  frequented  by  all  the  eminent 
men  of  the  Scottish  metropolis. 

AULD  chuckie  Reekie's  sair  distrest, 
Down  droops  her  ance  weel-burnisht  crest, 
Nae  joy  her  bonnie  buskit  nest 

Can  yield  ava, 

Her  darling  bird  that  she  lo'es  best, 
Willie's  awa  ! 

O  Willie  was  a  witty  wight, 
And  had  o'  things  an  unco  slight ; 
Auld  Reekie  aye  he  keepit  tight, 

An'  trig  an'  braw  : 
But  now  they'll  busk  her  like  a  fright, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

16 


242          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  stiffest  o'  them  a'  he  bow'd  ; 
The  bauldest  o'  them  a'  he  cow'd  ; 
They  durst  nae  mair  than  he  allow'd, 

That  was  a  law  : 
We've  lost  a  birkie  weel  worth  gowd, 

Willie's  awa  !  .  .  . 

The  brethren  o'  the  Commerce-Chaumer 
May  mourn  their  loss  wi'  doolfu'  clamour  ; 
He  was  a  dictionar  and  grammar 

Amang  them  a'  ; 
I  fear  they'll  now  mak'  mony  a  stammer, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

Nae  mair  we  see  his  levee  door 
Philosophers  and  poets  pour, 
And  toothy  critics  by  the  score, 

In  bloody  raw ! 
The  adjutant  o'  a'  the  core, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

Now  worthy  Gregory's  Latin  face, 
Tytler's  and  Greenfield's  modest  grace, 
Mackenzie,  Stewart,  sic  a  brace 

As  Rome  ne'er  saw  ; 
They  a'  maun  meet  some  ither  place, 

Willie's  awa  !  .  .  . 

May  I  be  slander's  common  speech  ; 
A  text  for  infamy  to  preach  ; 
And  lastly,  streekit  out  to  bleach 

In  winter  snaw ; 
When  I  forget  thee,  Willie  Creech, 

Tho'  far  awa  ! 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH 


16 — 2 


SEATED  on  the  rocks  which  are  more  old  than  any  history, 
though  those  precipices  are  now  veiled  with  verdure  and  soft- 
ness, and  the  iron  way  of  triumphant  modern  science  runs  at 
their  feet ;  with  her  crown  of  sacred  architecture  hanging  over 
her  among  the  mists,  and  the  primeval  shrine  mounted  upon  her 
highest  ridge ;  with  her  palace,  all  too  small  for  the  requirements 
of  an  enlarged  and  splendid  royalty,  and  the  great  crouched  and 
dormant  sentinel  of  nature  watching  over  her  through  all  the 
centuries  ;  with  her  partner,  sober  and  ample,  like  a  comely 
matron,  attended  by  all  the  modern  arts  and  comforts,  seated 
at  the  old  mother's  feet, — Edinburgh  can  never  be  less  than 
royal,  one  of  the  crowned  and  queenly  cities  of  the  world.  It 
does  not  need  for  this  distinction  that  there  should  be  millions 
of  inhabitants  within  her  walls,  or  all  the  great  threads  of 
industry  and  wealth  gathered  in  her  hands.  The  pathos  of 
much  that  is  past  and  over  for  ever,  the  awe  of  many  tragedies, 
a  recollection  almost  more  true  than  any  reality  of  the  present, 
of  ages  and  glories  gone — add  a  charm  which  the  wealthiest 
and  greatest  interests  of  to-day  cannot  give,  to  the  city,  always 
living,  always  stirring,  where  she  stands  amid  traditionary 
smoke  and  mist,  '  the  gray  metropolis  of  the  North,'  the 
Edinburgh  of  a  thousand  fond  associations, 

OUR  OWN  ROMANTIC  TOWN. 

MRS.    OLIPHANT. 


THE  LOVELY  MARY  ENTERS  EDINBURGH 

SCOTLAND,  involved  in  factious  broils, 
Groaned  deep  beneath  her  woes  and  toils, 
And  looked  o'er  meadow,  dale  and  lea, 
For  many  a  day  her  Queen  to  see  ; 
Hoping  that  then  her  woes  would  cease, 
And  all  her  valleys  smile  in  peace. 
The  spring  was  past,  the  summer  gone  ; 
Still  vacant  stood  the  Scottish  throne  : 
But  scarce  had  autumn's  mellow  hand 
Waved  her  rich  banner  o'er  the  land, 
When  rang  the  shouts,  from  tower  and  tree, 
That  Scotland's  Queen  was  on  the  sea. 
Swift  spread  the  news  o'er  down  and  dale, 
Swift  as  the  lively  autumn  gale  ; 
Away,  away,  it  echoed  still, , 
O'er  many  a  moor  and  Highland  hill, 
Till  rang  each  glen  and  verdant  plain, 
From  Cheviot  to  the  northern  main. 

Each  bard  attuned  the  loyal  lay, 
And  for  Dun-Edin  hied  away  ; 
Each  harp  was  strung  in  woodland  bower, 
In  praise  of  beauty's  bonniest  flower. 
The  chiefs  forsook  their  ladies  fair  ; 
The  priest  his  beads  and  books  of  prayer  ; 

The  farmer  left  his  harvest  day, 
The  shepherd  all  his  flocks  to  stray  ; 
The  forester  forsook  the  wood, 
And  hasted  on  to  Holyrood. 
245 


246          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

After  a  youth,  by  woes  o'ercast, 
After  a  thousand  sorrows  past, 
The  lovely  Mary  once  again 
Set  foot  upon  her  native  plain  ; 
Kneeled  on  the  pier  with  modest  grace, 
And  turned  to  heaven  her  beauteous  face. 
'Twas  then  the  caps  in  air  were  blended, 
A  thousand  thousand  shouts  ascended  ; 
Shivered  the  breeze  around  the  throng  ; 
Grey  barrier  cliffs  the  peals  prolong  ; 
And  every  tongue  gave  thanks  to  heaven, 
That  Mary  to  their  hopes  was  given. 

Her  comely  form  and  graceful  mien, 
Bespoke  the  Lady  and  the  Queen  ; 
The  woes  of  one  so  fair  and  young, 
Moved  every  heart  and  every  tongue. 
Driven  from  her  home,  a  helpless  child, 
To  brave  the  winds  and  billows  wild  ; 
An  exile  bred  in  realms  afar, 
Amid  commotion,  broil,  and  war  : 
In  one  short  year  her  hopes  all  crossed, — 
A  parent,  husband,  kingdom  lost ! 
And  all  ere  eighteen  years  had  shed 
Their  honours  o'er  her  royal  head. 
For  such  a  Queen,  the  Stuarts'  heir, 
A  Queen  so  courteous,  young,  and  fair, 
Who  would  not  every  foe  defy  ! 
Who  would  not  stand  !  who  would  not  die  ! 

Light  on  her  airy  steed  she  sprung, 
Around  with  golden  tassels  hung, 
No  chieftain  there  rode  half  so  free, 
Or  half  so  light  and  gracefully. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  247 

How  sweet  to  see  her  ringlets  pale 

Wide  waving  in  the  southland  gale, 

Which  through  the  broom-wood  blossoms  flew, 

To  fan  her  cheeks  of  rosy  hue  ! 

Whene'er  it  heaved  her  bosom's  screen, 

What  beauties  in  her  form  were  seen  ! 

And  when  her  courser's  mane  it  swung, 

A  thousand  silver  bells  were  rung. 

A  sight  so  fair,  on  Scottish  plain, 

A  Scot  shall  never  see  again. 

When  Mary  turned  her  wondering  eyes 
On  rocks  that  seemed  to  prop  the  skies  ; 
On  palace,  park,  and  battled  pile  ; 
On  lake,  on  river,  sea,  and  isle  ; 
O'er  woods  and  meadows  bathed  in  dew, 
To  distant  mountains  wild  and  blue  ; 
She  thought  the  isle  that  gave  her  birth 
The  sweetest,  wildest  land  on  earth. 

Slowly  she  ambled  on  her  way 
Amid  her  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
Priest,  abbot,  layman,  all  were  there, 
And  presbyter  with  look  severe  : 
Then  rode  the  lords  of  France  and  Spain, 
Of  England,  Flanders,  and  Lorraine, 
While  serried  thousands  round  them  stood, 
From  shore  of  Leith  to  Holyrood. 

Though  Mary's  heart  was  light  as  air 
To  find  a  home  so  wild  and  fair  ; 
To  see  a  gathered  nation  by, 
And  rays  of  joy  from  every  eye  ; 
Though  frequent  shouts  the  welkin  broke, 
Though  courtiers  bowed  and  ladies  spoke, 


248          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

An  absent  look  they  oft  could  trace 
Deep  settled  on  her  comely  face. 
Was  it  the  thought  that  all  alone 
She  must  support  a  rocking  throne  ? 
That  Caledonia's  rugged  land 
Might  scorn  a  Lady's  weak  command, 
And  the  Red  Lion's  haughty  eye 
Scowl  at  a  maiden's  feet  to  lie  ? 

No  ;  'twas  the  notes  of  Scottish  song, 
Soft  pealing  from  the  countless  throng  : 
So  mellowed  came  the  distant  swell, 
That  on  her  ravished  ear  it  fell 
Like  dew  of  heaven,  at  evening  close, 
On  forest  flower  or  woodland  rose. 
For  Mary's  heart,  to  Nature  true, 
The  powers  of  song  and  music  knew  : 
But  all  the  choral  measures  bland, 
Of  anthems  sung  in  southern  land, 
Appeared  an  useless  pile  of  art, 
Unfit  to  sway  or  melt  the  heart, 
Compared  with  that  which  floated  by, — 
Her  simple  native  melody. 
As  she  drew  near  the  Abbey  stile, 
She  halted,  reined,  and  bent  the  while  : 
She  he?rd  the  Caledonian  lyre 
Pour  forth  its  notes  of  Runic  fire. 

JAMES  HOGG. 


A  ROYAL  PAGEANT  THROUGH  EDINBURGH 

THE  rank  dew  lies  heavy  on  grass  and  stone ;  a  deep 
gloom  hangs  over  the  landscape, — a  thick  unwhole- 
some fog,  unstirred  by  the  wind  ;  but  we  can  see  the 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  249 

huge  back  of  Arthur's  Seat  faint  and  grey  amid  the 
haze,  with  the  unaltered  outline  of  the  crags  below  ; 
and  yonder  are  the  two  western  towers  of  Holyrood, 
and  yonder  the  Abbey,  with  its  stone-roof  entire, 
and  the  hoar  damps  settling  on  its  painted  glass.  .  .  . 
The  sun  has  not  shone  for  five  days,  nor  the  moon 
for  five  nights  ;  the  boom  of  the  cannon  from  the 
distant  harbour,  where  the  French  galleys  lie,  falls 
dead  and  heavy  on  the  ear,  like  the  echoes  of  a 
sepulchral  vault  ;  the  mingled  shouts  and  music  from 
the  half-seen  crowds  sound  drearily  amid  the  chill 
and  dripping  damps,  like  tones  of  the  winter  wind  in 
a  ruin  at  midnight ;  and  yonder  comes  the  pageant 
of  the  day,  enwrapped  in  fog,  like  a  drifting  vessel 
half-enveloped  in  the  spray  of  a  lee  shore.  Mark 
these  gay  and  volatile  strangers,  the  elite  of  the 
French  Court.  Yonder  are  the  three  Maries,  and 
yonder  the  two  Guises  ;  and  here  comes  the  Queen 
herself  encircled  by  her  iron  barons.  And  who  is 
that  Queen  ? — Mary, — the  gay,  the  fascinating,  the 
exquisitely  beautiful, — a  true  sovereign  of  the  im- 
agination, —  a  choice  heroine  of  poetry  and  ro- 
mance,— a  woman  whose  loveliness  still  exerts  its 
influence  over  hearts, — a  monarch  whose  misfortunes 
and  sorrows  still  command  tears. 

HUGH    MILLER. 


LAMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 

ON    THE    APPROACH    OF    SPRING 

Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  every  blooming  tree, 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  daisies  white 

Out  o'er  the  grassy  lea  : 


250          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Now  Phoebus  cheers  the  crystal  streams, 
And  glads  the  azure  skies  ; 

But  nought  can  glad  the  weary  wight 
That  fast  in  durance  lies. 

Now  lav'rocks  wake  the  merry  morn, 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing  ; 
The  merle,  in  his  noontide  bow'r, 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring  ; 
The  mavis,  wild  wi'  mony  a  note, 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest  : 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice, 

Wi'  care  nor  thrall  opprest. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  down  the  brae  ; 
The  hawthorn's  budding  in  the  glen, 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae  ; 
The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  their  sweets  amang  ; 
But  I,  the  Queen  of  a'  Scotland, 

Maun  lie  in  prison  strang  ! 

I  was  the  Queen  o'  bonnie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been  ; 
Fu'  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en  : 
And  I'm  the  sov'reign  of  Scotland, 

And  mony  a  traitor  there  ; 
Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands, 

And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman  ! 

My  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim  vengeance,  yet,  shall  whet  a  sword 

That  thro'  thy  soul  shall  gae  ! 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  251 

The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee  ; 
Nor  the  balm  that  drops  on  wounds  of  woe 

Frae  woman's  pitying  e'e. 

My  son  !  my  son  !  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine  ! 
And  may  those  pleasures  gild  thy  reign, 

That  ne'er  wad  blink  on  mine  ! 
God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother's  faes, 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee  : 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's  friend, 

Remember  him  for  me  ! 

Oh  !  soon,  to  me,  may  summer-suns 

Nae  mair  light  up  the  morn  ! 
Nae  mair,  to  me,  the  autumn  winds 

Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn  ! 
And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave  ; 
And  the  next  flow'rs,  that  deck  the  spring, 

Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave  ! 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


THE  QUEEN'S  MARIE 

MARIE  HAMILTON'S  to  the  kirk  gane, 

Wi'  ribbons  in  her  hair  ; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  any  that  were  there. 

Marie  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane, 

Wi'  ribbons  on  her  breast ; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  he  listen'd  to  the  priest. 


252          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Marie  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane, 

Wi'  gloves  upon  her  hands  ; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  the  Queen  and  a'  her  lands. 

She  hadna  been  about  the  King's  court 

A  month,  but  barely  one, 
Till  she  was  beloved  by  a'  the  King's  court, 

And  the  King  the  only  man. 

She  hadna  been  about  the  King's  court 

A  month,  but  barely  three, 
Till  frae  the  King's  court  Marie  Hamilton, 

Marie  Hamilton  durstna  be. 

The  King  is  to  the  Abbey  gane, 

To  pu'  the  Abbey  tree, 
To  scale  the  babe  frae  Marie's  heart ; 

But  the  thing  it  wadna  be. 

O  she  had  row'd  it  in  her  apron, 

And  set  it  on  the  sea, — 
'  Gae  sink  ye,  or  swim  ye,  bonny  babe, 

Ye'se  get  nae  mair  o'  me.' — 

Word  is  to  the  kitchen  gane, 

And  word  is  to  the  ha', 
And  word  is  to  the  noble  room, 

Amang  the  ladyes  a', 
That  Marie  Hamilton's  brought  to  bed, 

And  the  bonny  babe's  mist  and  awa.' 

Scarcely  had  she  lain  down  again, 

And  scarcely  fa'en  asleep, 
When  up  then  started  our  gude  Queen, 

Just  at  her  bed-feet ; 
Saying — '  Marie  Hamilton,  where's  your  babe  ? 

For  I'm  sure  I  heart  it  greet.' 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  253 

'  O  no,  O  no,  my  noble  Queen  ! 

Think  no  such  thing  to  be  ; 
'Twas  but  a  stitch  into  my  side, 

And  sair  it  troubles  me.' 

'  Get  up,  get  up,  Marie  Hamilton  ; 

Get  up,  and  follow  me  ; 
For  I  am  going  to  Edinburgh  town, 

A  rich  wedding  for  to  see.' 

O  slowly,  slowly  raise  she  up, 

And  slowly  put  she  on  ; 
And  slowly  rode  she  out  the  way, 

Wi'  mony  a  weary  groan. 

The  Queen  was  clad  in  scarlet, 

Her  merry  maids  all  in  green  ; 
And  every  town  they  cam  to, 

They  took  Marie  for  the  Queen. 

Ride  hooly,  hooly  gentlemen, 
Ride  hooly  now  wi'  me  ! 
For  never,  I  am  sure,  a  wearier  burd 
Rade  in  your  companie.' 

But  little  wist  Marie  Hamilton, 

When  she  rade  on  the  brown, 
That  she  was  ga'en  to  Edinburgh  town, 

And  a'  to  be  put  down. 

*  Why  weep  ye  so,  ye  burgess  wives, 

Why  look  ye  so  on  me  ? 
O,  I  am  going  to  Edinburgh  town, 

A  rich  wedding  for  to  see.' 


254          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

When  she  gaed  up  the  Tolbooth  stairs, 
The  corks  frae  her  heels  did  flee  ; 

And  lang  or  e'er  she  came  down  again, 
She  was  condemn'd  to  die. 

When  she  cam  to  the  Netherbow  port, 
She  laughed  loud  laughters  three  ; 

But  when  she  cam  to  the  gallows  foot, 
The  tears  blinded  her  ee. 

'  Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries, 
The  night  she'll  hae  but  three  ; 

There  was  Marie  Seaton,  and  Marie  Beaton, 
And  Marie  Carmichael,  and  me. 

'  O,  often  have  I  dress'd  my  Queen, 

And  put  gold  upon  her  hair  ; 
But  now  I've  gotten  for  my  reward 

The  gallows  to  be  my  share. 

'  Often  have  I  dress'd  my  Queen, 

And  often  made  her  bed  ; 
But  now  I've  gotten  for  my  reward 

The  gallows  tree  to  tread. 

'  I  charge  ye  all,  ye  mariners, 

When  ye  sail  ower  the  faem, 
Let  neither  my  father  nor  mother  get  wit, 

But  that  I'm  coming  hame. 

'  I  charge  ye  all,  ye  mariners, 

That  sail  upon  the  sea, 
Let  neither  my  father  nor  mother  get  wit, 

This  dog's  death  I'm  to  die. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  255 

'  For  if  my  father  and  mother  got  wit, 

And  my  bold  brethren  three, 
O  mickle  wad  be  the  gude  red  blude 

This  day  wad  be  spilt  for  me  ! 

'  O  little  did  my  mother  ken, 

That  day  she  cradled  me, 
The  lands  I  was  to  travel  in, 

Or  the  death  I  was  to  die  !' 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  :  Border  Minstrelsy. 


THE  ACCESSION  OF  JAMES  I 

HOW  THE  NEWS  REACHED  HOLYROOD 

WHEN  I  came  to  Court  [at  Richmond]  I  found  the 
Queen  [Elizabeth]  ill  disposed,  and  she  kept  her  inner 
lodging.  Yet  she,  hearing  of  my  arrival,  sent  for 
me.  I  found  her  in  one  of  her  withdrawing  cham- 
bers, sitting  low  upon  her  cushions.  She  called  me 
to  her.  I  kissed  her  hand,  and  told  her,  it  was  my 
chiefest  happiness  to  see  her  in  safety  and  health, 
which  I  wished  might  long  continue.  She  took  me 
by  the  hand,  and  wrung  it  hard  ;  and  said,  '  No, 
Robin,  I  am  not  well  !'  and  then  discoursed  with  me 
of  her  indisposition,  and  that  her  heart  had  been  sad 
and  heavy  for  ten  or  twelve  days  :  and,  in  her  dis- 
course, she  fetched  not  so  few  as  forty  or  fifty  great 
sighs. 

I  was  grieved,  at  the  first,  to  see  her  in  this  plight  : 
for,  in  all  my  lifetime  before,  I  never  knew  her  fetch 
a  sigh,  but  when  the  Queen  of  Scots  was  beheaded. 
Then,  upon  my  knowledge,  she  shed  many  tears  and 
sighs  ;  manifesting  her  innocence  that  she  never  gave 
consent  to  the  death  of  that  Queen. 


256          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

I  used  the  best  words  I  could  to  persuade  her  from 
this  melancholy  humour  ;  but  I  found,  by  her,  it 
was  too  deep  rooted  in  her  heart  ;  and  hardly  to  be 
removed.  This  was  upon  a  Saturday  night  :  and 
she  gave  command  that  the  great  closet  should  be 
prepared  for  her  to  go  to  chapel  the  next  morning. 
The  next  day,  all  things  being  in  a  readiness  ;  we 
long  expected  her  coming.  After  eleven  o'clock,  one 
of  the  grooms  came  out,  and  bade  make  ready  for  the 
private  closet ;  for  she  would  not  go  to  the  great. 
There  we  stayed  long  for  her  coming  :  but  at  last  she 
had  cushions  laid  for  her  in  the  Privy  Chamber,  hard 
by  the  closet  door  ;  and  there  she  heard  service.  .  .  . 

I,  hearing  that  neither  her  Physicians,  nor  none 
about  her,  could  persuade  her  to  take  any  course  for 
her  safety,  feared  her  death  would  soon  after  ensue.  I 
could  not  but  think  in  what  a  wretched  estate  I  should 
be  left  :  most  of  my  livelihood  depending  on  her 
life.  And  hereupon  I  bethought  myself  with  what 
grace  and  favour  I  was  ever  received  by  the  King  of 
Scots,  whensoever  I  was  sent  to  him.  I  did  assure 
myself  it  was  neither  unjust,  nor  unhonest,  for  me  to 
do  for  myself  ;  if  God,  at  that  time,  should  call  her  to 
His  mercy.  Hereupon  I  wrote  to  the  King  of  Scots, 
knowing  him  to  be  the  right  heir  to  the  Crown  of 
England  ;  and  certified  him  in  what  state  Her  Majesty 
was.  I  desired  him  not  to  stir  from  Edinburgh  :  and 
if,  of  that  sickness  she  should  die,  I  would  be  the  first 
man  that  should  bring  him  news  of  it.  ... 

I  went  to  my  lodging,  and  left  word  with  one  in 
the  cofferer's  chamber  to  call  me,  if  that  night  it  was 
thought  the  Queen  would  die  ;  and  gave  the  porter 
an  angel  to  let  me  in  at  any  time,  when  I  called. 
Between  one  and  two  of  the  clock  on  Thursday 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  257 

morning,  he  that  I  left  in  the  cofferer's  chamber, 
brought  me  word,  '  The  Queen  is  dead.'  .  .  . 

Very  early  on  Saturday  I  took  horse  for  Edin- 
burgh ;  and  came  to  Norham  about  twelve  at  noon. 
So  that  I  might  well  have  been  with  the  King  at 
supper  time  :  but  I  got  a  great  fall  by  the  way  ; 
and  my  horse,  with  one  of  his  heels,  gave  me  a  great 
blow  on  the  head,  that  made  me  shed  much  blood. 
It  made  me  so  weak,  that  I  was  forced  to  ride  a  soft 
pace  after  :  so  that  the  King  was  newly  gone  to  bed 
by  the  time  I  knocked  at  the  gate  [of  Holyrood 
Palace]. 

I  was  quickly  let  in  ;  and  carried  up  to  the  King's 
Chamber.  I  kneeled  by  him,  and  saluted  him  by 
his  title  of  '  England,  Scotland,  France,  and  Ireland.' 
He  gave  me  his  hand  to  kiss  ;  and  bade  me  welcome. 

After  he  had  long  discoursed  of  the  manner  of  the 
Queen's  sickness,  and  of  her  death,  he  asked,  what 
letters  I  had  from  the  Council  ? 

I  told  him  none  :  and  acquainted  him  how  narrowly 
I  escaped  from  them.  And  yet  I  brought  him  a 
blue  ring  from  a  Lady,  that  I  hoped  would  give  him 
assurance  of  the  truth  that  I  had  reported.  He  took 
it,  and  looked  upon  it,  and  said,  '  It  is  enough.  I 
know  by  this,  you  are  a  true  messenger.'  Then  he 
committed  me  to  the  charge  of  my  Lord  Home  ; 
and  gave  straight  command  that  I  should  want 
nothing.  He  sent  for  his  chirurgions  to  attend  me  ; 
and  when  I  kissed  his  hand,  at  my  departure,  he  said 
to  me  these  gracious  words  :  '  I  know  you  have  lost 
a  near  kinswoman  and  a  loving  Mistress  :  but  take 
here  my  hand,  I  will  be  as  good  a  Master  to  you  ;  and 
will  requite  you  this  service  with  honour  and  reward.' 
So  I  left  him  that  night,  and  went  with  my  Lord  Home 

17 


258          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

to  my  lodging  :  where  I  had  all  things  fitting  for  so 
weary  a  man  as  I  was.  After  my  head  was  dressed,  I 
took  leave  of  my  Lord  and  many  others  that  attended 
me  ;  and  went  to  my  rest. 

SIR    ROBERT   CAREY. 


During  the  continuance  of  His  Majesty  in  Scotland, 
before  his  Progress  towards  England,  his  whole  care 
was  for  the  peaceable  government  of  that  realm,  from 
which  he  was  a  while  to  part.  And  to  that  end,  he 
had  sundry  conferences  with  his  nobility,  laying  the 
safest  projects  that,  in  his  wisdom  and  their  experi- 
ences, seemed  likely  for  effecting  his  royal  desire  : 
which,  God  willing,  will  come  to  pass  to  his  great 
liking  and  the  benefit  of  both  the  realms. 

But  that  it  might  more  to  his  people  appear,  he  in 
person  came  graciously  to  the  city  of  Edinburgh, 
unto  the  public  sermon.  And  after  the  sermon  was 
finished,  in  a  most  learned  but  more  loving  oration, 
he  expressed  his  occasion  of  leaving  them,  to  the 
burgesses  and  a  number  of  the  people  :  exhorting 
them  to  continue  in  obedience,  being  the  bond  that 
binds  princes  to  affect  their  subjects,  which  broken 
on  their  part  he  trusted  should  never  be,  and  of  his 
they  were  assured  ;  persuading  them  also  to  agreement 
amongst  themselves,  being  the  bond  of  charity  that 
tied  all  men,  especially  Christians,  to  love  and  bear 
with  one  another.  In  which  obedience  to  him,  and 
agreement  amongst  themselves  if  they  continued  : 
howsoever  he  was,  in  a  manner,  at  that  time,  con- 
strained to  leave  them  ;  yet  he  would,  in  his  own 
person,  visit  them,  and  that  shortly,  in  times  con- 
venient and  most  necessary  for  his  own  advancement 
and  their  benefit. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  259 

Yet  for  all  his  kingly  oratory,  mild  behaviour,  and 
true  intention,  the  people's  hearts  against  his  de- 
parture were  even  dead  :  and  grief  seized  every 
private  man's  reins,  saving  only  those  that  were  made 
happy  by  attending  his  royal  person  into  England. .  .  . 

His  Majesty,  with  great  solemnity  and  pomp,  was 
proclaimed  King  of  England,  Scotland,  France,  and 
Ireland,  at  the  Market  Cross  of  Edinburgh,  in  presence 
of  the  whole  officers  of  estate  of  the  realm,  and  many 
of  the  nobility  of  Scotland,  and  sundry  knights  and 
gentlemen  of  England. 

And  in  the  evening  of  that  day,  there  were  many 
hundreds  of  bonfires  made  all  about  the  city  ;  with 
great  feasting  and  merriment  held  till  the  appearing 
of  the  next  day.  But  as  joyful  as  they  were  of  His 
Majesty's  great  advancement,  and  enlarging  of  his 
Empire,  so  were  they,  as  I  before  noted,  for  their 
private  want  of  him  no  less  filled  with  grief  as,  above 
all  other  times,  was  most  apparently  expressed  at 
his  departure  from  Edinburgh  towards  England  :  the 
cries  of  the  poor  people  being  so  lamentable  and  con- 
fused that  it  moved  His  Majesty  to  much  compas- 
sion ;  yet  seeing  their  clamours  were  only  of  affection 
and  not  grounded  on  reason,  with  many  gracious 
and  loving  words  he  left  them,  and  proceeded  on  his 
Progress. 

T.  M.  (1603). 

FROM  '  THE  BALLAD  OF  CHEVY  CHACE ' 

WORD  is  comen  to  Edinburgh,  to  Jamy  the  Scottish 

King, 
That  doughty  Douglas,  Lieutenant  of  the  Marches,  he 

lay  slain  Cheviot  within. 

17—2 


26o          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

His  hands  did  he  weal  and  wring.     He  said,  '  Alas  ! 

and  woe  is  me  ! 
Such  another  Captain,  Scotland  within,'  he  said,  '  i' 

faith  !  should  never  be.'  ... 
As  our  noble  King  made  his  avow,  like  a  noble  Prince 

of  renown, 
For  the  death  of  the  Lord  Percy,  he  did  the  battle  of 

Humble  Down  ; 
Where  six  and  thirty  Scottish  Knights,  on  a  day, 

were  beaten  down  ; 
Glendale    glittered    on    their    armour    bright,    over 

Castle,  tower,  and  town. 
This  was  the  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot,  that  there 

began  this  spurn. 
Old  men,  that  know  the  ground  well  enough,  call  it 

the  Battle  of  Otterburn. 

At  Otterburn  began  this  spurn,  upon  a  Monday. 
There  was  the  doughty  Douglas  slain.     The  Percy 

never  went  away ! 
There  was  never  a  time,  in  the  March  parts,  sen  the 

Douglas  and  Percy  met, 
But  it  is  marvel  and  the  red  blood  run  not,  as  the  rain 

does  in  the  street. 

Jesu  Christ,  our  bale's  bete  !  and  to  the  bliss  us  bring  ! 
Thus  was  the  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot.     God  send  us 

all  good  ending. 

ANON.  (1558). 


PRINCE  CHARLES  ENTERS  EDINBURGH  AFTER  THE 
BATTLE  OF  PRESTON 

PAINTED    BY    THOMAS    DUNCAN 

THE  morning  sun  has  risen  high  over  the  Old  Town 
of  Edinburgh,  and  the  beams  fall  clear  and  bright 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  261 

through  a  cloudless  autumn  sky,  on  half  the  high- 
piled,  picturesque  tenements  of  the  Canongate,  and 
half  the  street  below.  The  other  half  lies  grey  in 
the  shade.  I  saw,  just  in  front,  on  the  sunny  side, 
the  castellated  jail  of  the  burgh,  with  its  blackened 
turrets  and  its  Flemish-looking  clock-house.  The 
barred  windows  are  thronged  with  faces  ;  and  a  few 
disarmed,  half -stripped,  forlorn  soldiery  huddled 
together  on  an  outer  staircase,  show  that  the  in- 
carcerated crowd  are  military  prisoners  from  the 
field  of  Preston.  The  street  lies  in  long  perspective 
beyond,  house  rising  over  house,  and  balcony  pro- 
jecting beyond  balcony.  Every  flaw  and  weather- 
stain  has  the  mark  of  truth  ;  every  peculiarity  of  the 
architecture  reminded  me  of  the  scene  and  the  age. 
A  dense  crowd  occupies  the  foreground.  The 
Highlanders,  after  totally  routing  the  superior 
numbers  of  Cope,  have  entered  the  city  with  their 
Prince  at  their  head,  and  have  advanced  thus  far  on 
their  march  to  Holyrood  House.  The  apparently 
living  mass  seems  bearing  down  upon  the  spectator. 
There  is  a  mischievous-looking,  ragged  urchin,  half- 
extinguished  by  the  cap  of  some  luckless  grenadier, 
who  has  possibly  no  further  use  for  it,  scampering 
out  of  the  way  :  and  an  unfortunate  barber,  the  very 
type  of  Smollett's  Strap,  has  got  himself  fast  jambled 
between  a  projecting  outside  stair  and  the  brandished 
war-axe  of  a  half-naked  and  more  than  half-savage 
gillie,  who  is  exerting  himself  with  tremendous 
vigour  in  clearing  a  passage,  and  who,  as  if  to  add  to 
the  poor  barber's  distress  and  peril,  is  looking  in 
another  direction.  There  are  other  strokes  of  the 
comic  in  the  piece.  In  one  corner  a  Jacobite  laird, 
blin'  fou,  is  threatening  destruction  with  unsheathed 


262          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

whinyard  to  all  and  sundry  who  will  not  drink  the 
Prince's  health.  In  another,  two  pipers  are  marching 
side  by  side.  The  one,  a  long-winded  young  fellow, 
cast  in  the  Herculean  mould  of  his  country,  and  proud 
of  his  strength  and  his  music,  is  adjusting  the  drone 
of  his  pipe  with  a  degree  of  self-complacency  that 
might  serve  even  the  Dean  of  Faculty  himself.  The 
other,  an  old  man  of  at  least  seventy- five,  with 
features  fiercely  Celtic,  and  an  expression  like  a 
thunder-cloud,  is  evidently  enraged  at  the  better 
breath  of  his  opponent ;  but,  collecting  his  strength 
for  another  effort,  he  seems  determined  rather  to 
die  than  give  in.  The  Prince  rides  in  the  centre  on  a 
noble  steed,  that  seems  starting  out  of  the  canvas. 
We  recognize  him  at  once,  not  only  from  his  promi- 
nent place  and  princely  bearing,  but  from  the  striking 
truth  of  the  portrait, — one  of  the  most  spirited, 
perhaps,  that  has  yet  appeared,  and  most  like  the 
man  when  at  his  best.  Has  the  reader  ever  noticed 
the  striking  resemblance  which  the  better  portraits 
of  Prince  Charles  bear  to  those  of  his  remote  an- 
cestress, Queen  Mary  ?  .  .  .  All  the  more  celebrated 
heroes  of  the  rebellion  are  grouped  round  the  Prince, 
full,  evidently,  of  a  generous  enthusiasm,  in  which  the 
spectator  can  hardly  avoid  sympathizing.  .  .  .  Be- 
hind the  Prince  rides  Clanranald,  the  Chief  of  Clan- 
Colla.  His  Highlanders  take  precedence  of  the 
other  clans,  for  the  Bruce  had  assigned  them  their 
place  of  honour  in  the  right  when  they  fought  at 
Bannockburn.  Young  Clanranald,  a  tall  handsome 
youth,  and  his  cousin,  Kinloch  Moidart,  have  ad- 
vanced in  front ;  old  Hugh  Stewart,  a  rugged  deep- 
chested  veteran  of  the  Black  Watch,  who  fought  in 
all  the  battles  of  Charles,  and  whose  portrait  is  still 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  263 

preserved,  presses  on  behind  them  ;  and  the  gigantic 
miller  of  Inverrahayle's  Mill,  a  tremendous  specimen 
of  the  wild  mountaineer,  is  still  more  conspicuous 
among  a  group  of  clansmen  on  the  left.  There  is  a 
dense  crowd  behind,  and  what  seems  a  thick  wood  of 
spears  and  axes,  with  here  and  there  a  banner, — 
among  the  rest,  an  English  standard  taken  from  the 
dragoons  at  Preston.  .  .  . 

The  pictorial  history  of  Scotland  promises  to 
excel  all  its  other  histories,  and  it  does  not  contain 
a  more  brilliant  page  than  the  page  contributed  by 
Duncan. 

Gallant  Highlanders,  men  of  warm  hearts  and 
tender  feelings,  and  spirits  that  kindle  as  the  danger 
comes,  the  phantom  of  mistaken  loyalty  deludes  you 
no  longer  ;  you  have  closed  with  a  better  faith  ;  and, 
while  the  strength  of  the  character  still  remains 
unbroken,  all  its  fierceness  is  gone.  I  have  lived 
amid  the  quiet  solitude  of  your  hills  ;  and,  as  I  have 
passed  your  cottages  at  the  close  of  evening,  have 
heard  the  voice  of  psalms  within.  I  have  sat  with 
you  at  the  humble  board,  to  share  your  proffered 
hospitality, — the  hospitality  of  willing  hearts,  that 
thought  not  of  the  scanty  store  whence  the  supply 
was  derived.  I  have  marked  your  untaught  courtesy, 
ever  ready  to  yield  to  the  stranger,  and  have  laid  me 
down  in  security  at  night  amid  your  hamlets,  with 
only  the  latch  on  the  door.  I  have  seen  you  pouring 
forth  your  thousands  from  brown  distant  moors  and 
narrow  glens,  to  listen  with  devout  attention  to  the 
words  of  life  from  the  lips  of  your  much-loved  pastors, 
and  to  worship  God  among  your  mountains  in  the 
open  air.  I  know,  too,  the  might  that  slumbers 
amid  your  gentlemen  of  nature  ;  and  that,  when  the 


264          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

day  of  battle  comes,  '  and  level  for  the  charge  your 
arms  are  laid,'  desperate  indeed  must  that  enemy 
be,  and  much  in  love  with  death,  that  awaits  the 
onset. 

HUGH    MILLER. 


THE  THISTLE  AND  THE  ROSE 

This  emblematic  song  was  made  for  the  marriage,  at  Edin- 
burgh, in  1503,  of  the  Princess  Margaret  of  England,  eldest 
daughter  of  Henry  VII.,  with  King  James  IV.  of  Scotland. 

WHEN  March  was,  with  varying  winds,  past, 

And  April  had,  with  her  silver  showers, 
Ta'en  leave  at  Nature  with  an  orient  blast ; 
And  lusty  May,  that  mother  is  of  flowers, 
Had  made  the  birdes  to  begin  their  Hours, 
Among  the  tender  odours  red  and  white, 
Whose  harmony  to  hear  it  was  delight  ; 

In  bed,  at  morrow,  sleeping  as  I  lay, 

Methought,  Aurora,  with  her  crystal  een, 
In  at  the  window  looked  by  the  day, 
And  halsed  me,  with  visage  pale  and  green  ; 
On  whose  hand,  a  lark  sang  fro  the  spleen, 
'  Awake,  Lovers  !  out  of  your  slumbering  ! 
See  how  the  lusty  morrow  does  upspring  !' 

Methought  fresh  May  before  my  bed  upstood, 

In  weed  depaint  of  mony  diverse  hue, 
Sober,  benign,  and  full  of  mansuetude  ; 
In  bright  attire  of  flowers  forged  new, 
Heavenly  of  colour,  white,  red,  brown,  and  blue, 
Balmed  in  dew,  and  gilt  with  Phoebus'  beams  ; 
While  all  the  house  illumined  of  her  learns. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  265 

'  Sluggard  !'  she  said,  '  awake  anon,  for  shame  ! 
And,  in  my  honour,  something  thou  go  write  ! 
The  lark  has  done  the  merry  day  proclaim 
To  raise  up  Lovers  with  comfort  and  delight ; 
Yet  nought  increases  thy  courage  to  indite  ! 
Whose  heart  sometimes  has  glad  and  blissful 

been, 
Songs  to  make,  under  the  leaves  green/ 

'  Whereto,'  quod  I,  '  shall  I  uprise,  at  morrow  ? 

For,  in  this  May,  few  birdes  heard  I  sing  ! 
They  have  more  cause  to  weep,  and  plain  their 

sorrow  ! 

Thy  air,  it  is  not  wholesome  nor  benign  ! 
Lord  ^Eolus  does  in  thy  season  reign  ! 
So  busteous  are  the  blasts  of  his  horn. 
Among  thy  boughs  to  walk  I  have  forborne  !' 

With  that,  this  Lady  soberly  did  smile, 

And  said,  '  Uprise  ;  and  do  thy  observance  ! 
Thou  didst  promise,  in  May's  lusty  while, 
For  to  descrive  the  Rose  of  most  pleasance  ! 
Go,  see  the  birdes,  how  they  sing  and  dance  ! 
Illumined  o'er  with  orient  skies  bright, 
Enamelled  richly  with  new  azure  light  !' 

When  this  was  said,  departed  she,  this  Queen, 

And  entered  in  a  lusty  garden  gent ; 
And  then,  methought,  full  hastily  beseen 
In  serk  and  mantle,  after  her  I  went 
Into  this  garth  most  duke  and  redolent 
Of    herbs    and    flowers,   and    tender    plants 

sweet ; 
And  green  leaves  doing  of  dew  down  fleet. 


266          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  purple  sun,  with  tender  beames  red, 

In  orient  bright  as  angel  did  appear, 
Through  golden  skies  putting  up  his  head  ; 
Whose  gilt  tresses  shone  so  wondir  clear, 
That    all    the    world    took    comfort,    far    and 

near, 

To  look  upon  his  fresh  and  blissful  face 
Doing  all  sable,  from  the  heavens  chase. 

And  as  the  blissful  song  of  hierarchy, 

The  fowls  sang,  through  comfort  of  the  light, 
The  birdes  did,  with  open  voices,  cry, 

'  O,  Lovers'  foe  !  away,  thou  dully  night ! 
And  welcome,  day  !  that  comforts  every  wight  ! 
Hail,  May  !  Hail,  Flora  !  Hail,  Aurora  sheen  ! 
Hail,   Princess  Nature  !  Hail,   Venus,   Love's 
Queen  !' 

Dame  Nature  gave  an  inhibition  there 

To  fierce  Neptune,  and  ^Eolus  the  bold, 
Not  to  perturb  the  water,  nor  the  air  ; 
And  that  no  showers,  nor  blastes  cold 
Effray  should  flowers,  nor  fowls,  on  the  fold  ! 
She  bade  eke  Juno,  goddess  of  the  sky, 
That  she  the  heavens  should  keep  amene  and 
dry! 

She  ordained  eke  that  every  bird  and  beast 

Before  her  Highness  should  anon  compeir ; 
And  every  flower  of  virtue,  most  and  least, 
And  every  herb  by  field  far  and  near, 
As  they  had  wont,  in  May,  from  year  to  year, 
To  her,  their  Maker,  to  make  obedience, 
Full  low  inclining,  with  all  due  reverence. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  267 

With  that,  anon  she  sent  the  swift  roe 
To  bring  in  beasts  of  all  condition  ; 
The  restless  swallow  commanded  she  also 
To  fetch  all  fowl  of  small  and  great  renown  ; 
And  to  gar  flowers  compeir  of  all  fashion, 
Full  craftily  conjured  she  the  Yarrow 
Which  did  forth  swirk  as  swift  as  any  arrow. 

All  present  were,  in  twinkling  of  an  e, 
Both  beasts,  and  birds,  and  flowers,  before  the 

Queen. 
And  first  the  lion,  greatest  of  degree, 

Was  callM  there  :  and  he,  most  fair  to  seen, 
With  a  full  hardy  countenance  and  keen, 

Before  Dame    Nature    came ;    and    did    in- 
cline, 
With  visage  bold,  and  courage  leonine. 

This  awful  beast  full  terrible  was  of  cheer, 

Piercing  of  look,  and  stout  of  countenance, 
Right  strong  of  corps,  of  fashion  fair,  but  feir, 
Lusty  of  shape,  light  of  deliverance, 
Red  of  his  colour,  as  is  the  ruby  glance  ; 
On  field  of  gold  he  stood  full  mightily, 
With  fleur-de-lis  encircled  lustily. 

This  Lady  lifted  up  his  clawes  clear, 

And  let  him  listly  lean  upon  her  knee  ; 
And  crowned  him  with  diadem  full  dear 
Of  radiant  stones,  most  royal  for  to  see, 
Saying,  '  The  King  of  Beastes  make  I  thee  ; 
And  the  chief  protector  in  woods  and  shaws  ! 
Unto    thy    lieges    go    forth,   and    keep    the 
laws  ! 


268          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

'  Excerce  justice,  with  mercy  and  conscience  ; 

And  let  no  small  beast  suffer  scath,  nor  scorns, 
Of  great  beasts,  that  be  of  more  puissance  ! 
Do  law  alike  to  apes  and  unicorns  ! 
And  let  no  bowgle,  with  his  busteous  horns, 

The  meek  plough-ox  oppress,  for  all  his  pride  ; 
And  in  the  yoke  go  peaceably  him  beside  !' 

When  this  was  said,  with  noise  and  sound  of  joy, 

All  kinds  of  beast  es,  into  their  degree, 
At  once  cried  loud,  '  Vive  le  Roi  /' 
And  till  his  feet  fell  with  humility  ; 
And  all,  they  made  him  homage  and  fealty  : 
And  he  did  them  receive  with  princely  laitis  ; 
Whose  noble  ire  is  parcere  prostratis. 

Syne,  crowned  she  the  eagle,  King  of  Fowls  ; 

And  as  steel  darts  sharpened  she  his  pennes, 
And  bade  him,  '  Be  also  just  to  whaups  and  owls 
As  unto  peacocks,  popingays,  or  cranes  ; 
And  make  a  law  for  wight  fowls  and  for  wrens  : 
And  let  no  fowl  of  ravin  do  effray, 
Nor  devour  birds  but  his  own  prey  !' 

Then  called  she  all  flowers  that  grew  on  field, 

Discerning  all  their  fashions  and  effeirs. 
Upon  that  awful  Thistle  she  beheld, 

And  saw  him  kept  with  a  bush  of  spears  : 
Considering  him  so  able  for  the  wars, 
A  radiant  crown  of  rubies  she  him  gave, 
And  said,  '  In  field  go  forth,  and  'fend  the  lave  ! 

'  And,  sen  thou  art  a  King,  thou  be  discreet  ! 

Herb  without  virtue  thou  hold  not  of  such  price 
As  herb  of  virtue  and  of  odour  sweet  ! 

And  let  no  nettle  vile,  and  full  of  vice, 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  269 

Her  fellow  to  the  goodly  fleur-de-lis  I 
Nor  let  no  wild  weed,  full  of  churlishness, 
Compare  her  till  the  lily's  nobleness  ! 

'  Nor  hold  none  other  flower  in  such  dainty 

As  the  fresh  rose,  of  colour  red  and  white  ! 
For  if  thou  dost,  hurt  is  thine  honesty. 
Consid'ring  that  no  flower  is  so  perfite, 
So  full  of  virtue,  pleasance,  and  delight. 
So  full  of  blissful  angelic  beauty, 
Imperial  birth,  honour,  and  dignity  !' 

Then  to  the  rose  she  turned  her  visage, 

And  said,  '  O  lusty  daughter  !  most  benign, 
Above  the  lily,  illustrious  of  lineage, 

From  the  stock  royal  rising  fresh  and  ying, 
But  any  spot  or  macule  doing  spring  : 

Come,  bloom  of  joy  !  with  gems  to  be  crowned  ; 
For,  o'er  the  lave,  thy  beauty  is  renowned.' 

A  costly  crown,  with  clarified  stones  bright, 

This  comely  Queen  did  on  her  head  enclose, 
While  all  the  land  illumined  of  the  light  : 

Wherefore  methought,  all  flowers  did  rejoice, 
Crying  at  once,  '  Hail,  be  thou  richest,  Rose  ! 
Hail,  herbes'  Empress  !  Hail,  freshest  Queen  of 

flowers  ! 
To  thee  be  glory  and  honour  at  all  hours  !' 

Then  all  the  birdes  sang  with  one  voice  on  hight  ; 
Whose  mirthful  sound  was  marvellous  to  hear. 
The  mavis  sang,  '  Hail,  Rose,  most  rich  and  right, 
That  dost  up-flourish  under  Phoebus'  sphere  ! 
Hail,  plant  of  youth  !  Hail,  Princess,  daughter  dear, 
Hail,  blossom  breaking  out  of  the  royal  blood  ; 
Whose  precious  virtue  is  imperial.' 


270          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  merle,  she  sang,  '  Hail,  Rose  of  most  delight, 
Hail,  of  all  flowers  Queen  and  Sovereign  !' 
The  lark,  she  sang,  '  Hail,  Rose,  both  red  and  white, 
Most  pleasant  flower,  of  mighty  colours  twain  !' 
The  nightingale  sang,  '  Hail,  Nature's  suffragan 
In  beauty,  nurture,  and  every  nobleness, 
In  rich  array,  renown,  and  gentleness  !' 

The  common  voice  uprose  of  birdes  small, 
Upon  this  wise,  '  O,  blessed  be  the  hour, 
That  thou  wast  chosen  to  be  our  principal ! 
Welcome  to  be  our  princess  of  honour, 
Our  pearl,  our  pleasure,  and  our  paramour, 
Our  peace,  our  play,  our  plain  felicity  ! 
Christ  thee  conserve  from  all  adversity  !' 

Then  all  the  birdes  sang  with  such  a  shout, 

That  I  anon  awoke  where  that  I  lay  ; 
And,  with  a  braid,  I  turned  me  about 

To  see  this  Court  :  but  all  were  went  away. 
Then  up  I  leaned,  halflings  in  affray  ; 

And  thus  I  wrote,  as  ye  have  heard  to  forrow, 
Of  lusty  May  upon  the  ninth  morrow. 

WILLIAM   DUNBAR. 


TO  THE  KING 

AT  HIS  RETURNING  FROM  SCOTLAND  TO  THE  QUEEN  AFTER  HIS 
CORONATION    THERE.* 

ROUSE  up  thyself,  my  gentle  Muse, 
Though  now  our  green  conceits  be  grey, 

And  yet  once  more  do  not  refuse 
To  take  my  Phrygian  harp,  and  play 
In  honour  of  this  cheerful  day. 
*  Charles  I.,  crowned  at  Holyrood  June  18,  1633. 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  271 

Make  first  a  song  of  joy  and  love, 
Which  chastely  flame  in  royal  eyes  ; 

Then  tune  it  to  the  spheres  above 
When  the  benignest  stars  do  rise, 
And  sweet  conjunctions  grace  the  skies. 

To  this  let  all  good  hearts  resound, 
While  diadems  invest  his  head  ; 

Long  may  he  live,  whose  life  doth  bound 
More  than  his  laws,  and  better  lead 
By  high  example  than  by  dread  ! 

Long  may  he  round  about  him  see 

His  roses  and  his  lilies  blown  ; 
Long  may  his  only  dear  and  he 

Joy  in  ideas  of  their  own, 

And  kingdom's  hopes  so  timely  sown  ; 

Long  may  they  both  contend  to  prove, 
That  best  of  crowns  is  such  a  love  ! 

SIR  HENRY   WOTTON. 


CHARLES  THE  FIRST'S  PROGRESS  THROUGH  EDIN- 
BURGH 

CHARLES  I.,  when  he  visited  Scotland  in  1633  .  r  . 
brought  with  him  Archbishop  Laud.  .  .  .  The  age  of 
Charles,  however,  was,  much  more  than  the  present, 
an  age  of  mysteries  and  emblems  :  it  was  an  age  of 
the  masque  and  the  allegory, — an  age  in  which  even 
a  Bacon  could  write  of  such  things,  and  a  Quarles  of 
scarce  anything  else  ;  and  I  question  whether  Edin- 
burgh was  not  as  interesting  a  sight  when  Charles  I. 
/.  .  as  when  Queen  Victoria  visited  it.  '  The  streets 
on  both  sides,'  says  Stevenson,  '  were  lined  by  the 


272          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

citizens  in  their  best  apparel  and  arms,  from  the  West 
Port  to  Holyrood.'  At  one  '  theatre,  exquisitely 
adorned,'  where  the  Lord  Provost  presented  the  keys 
to  his  Majesty,  there  was  a  '  painted  description  of 
the  city.'  At  another  near  the  Luckenbooths,  were 
arranged  the  portraits  of  all  the  kings  of  Scotland 
from  Fergus  downward.  A  fountain  at  the  cross  ran 
with  wine  for  the  benefit  of  the  lieges  ;  and  Bacchus, 
large  as  life,  superintended  the  distribution  of  the 
liquor.  The  Muses  made  themselves  visible  in  Hunter 
Square  ;  the  heavenly  bodies  danced  harmoniously 
at  the  Netherbow.  Bells  chimed,  cannon  rattled, 
and  '  all  sorts  of  music  that  could  be  invented  ' 
mingled  their  tones  with  the  booming  of  the  guns,  the 
pealing  of  the  bells,  the  melody  of  the  planets,  the 
speeches  of  Fergus,  Bacchus,  and  the  Provost,  and 
the  songs  of  Apollo,  the  Burghers,  and  the  Muses. 
We  are  farther  told  that  the  streets  were  actually 
'  sanded,'  and  that  the  '  chief  places  were  set  out 
with  stately  triumphant  arches,  obelisks,  pictures, 
artificial  mountains,  and  other  costly  shows.'  It 
must  have  been  altogether  a  bizarre  scene.  Par- 
nassus, with  all  its  rocks,  trees,  and  fountains,  leaned 
against  the  old  weigh-house.  When  the  Muses  sung, 
the  nymphs  of  the  Cowgate  joined  in  the  chorus. — 
The  genius  of  Scotland  discoursed  of  war  and  con- 
quest in  the  middle  of  the  West  Bow, — classic  arches 
of  lath  strided  over  the  odoriferous  Cranes, — festoons 
of  flowers  hung  romantically  above  the  unsullied 
waters  of  Nor'-Loch, — obelisks  of  pasteboard  shot 
up  their  taper  pinnacles  among  the  grey  chimneys 
of  the  Grassmarket, — the  entire  city  must  have  not 
a  little  resembled  its  defunct  patron  saint  of  blackened 
wood,  '  old  St.  Gyle,'  when  bedizzened  on  a  holiday 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  273 

with  coloured  glass,  tinsel,  and  cut  paper.  And  then, 
the  handsome,  imperious,  melancholy  Charles,  with 
violent  death  impressed,  according  to  the  belief  of 
the  age,  in  the  very  lines  of  his  countenance,  and  the 
withered,  diminutive  Laud,  perplexed  by  some  half- 
restored  recollection  of  his  last  night's  dream,  or  bent 
to  the  full  stretch  of  his  faculties  in  originating  some 
new  religious  form  suggested  by  the  surrounding 
mummeries,  or  in  determining  whether  his  cope 
might  not  possibly  be  improved  by  the  addition  of  a 
few  spangles,  must  have  looked  tolerably  picturesque 
as  they  passed  along  the  lines  of  grave  whiskered 
burghers  stretching  on  either  hand,  surmounted  by 
all  the  beauty  of  the  place,  as  it  hung  gaping  and 
curious  from  the  windows  above. 

HUGH   MILLER. 
QUEEN  VICTORIA'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH 

SEPTEMBER    3,     1842 

IT  was  one  of  those  mild  agreeable  days  of  tempered 
sunshine  and  shadow  of  which  our  better  tracts  of 
autumn  weather  are  mainly  composed.  It  was  what 
Gilbert  White  of  Selborne  would  have  termed  a 
delicate  day.  Thsre  were  a  few  white  clouds  over- 
head ;  there  rested  on  the  outer  skirts  of  the  land- 
scape a  soft  grey  haze  ;  a  slight  breeze  just  served, 
by  rippling  the  waters  of  the  Firth,  to  give  intensity 
to  their  tints  of  blue  ;  the  distant  heights,  with  theii 
multitudinous  squares  of  yellow,  so  significant  of  the 
decline  of  the  season,  looked  soft  and  dim,  as  if 
sketched  in  an  unfinished  drawing  ;  the  city  itself, 
seated  proudly  amid  its  hills,  raised  its  picturesque 
and  close-piled  masses  through  the  thin  haze,  as  if  it 

18 


274          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

were  a  thing  half  of  earth,  half  of  cloud, — its  shadows 
softened  into  a  bluish-grey, — its  mingling  lights 
sobered  down  into  a  pale  and  smoky  amber.  One  of 
our  poets  speaks  of  the  roar  sent  by  a  great  city 
'  through  all  its  many  gates.'  One  had  but  to  stand 
and  listen  on  this  morning,  to  decide  regarding  the 
appropriateness  of  the  phrase.  An  infinity  of 
blended  tones, — the  hum  of  eager  and  moving  crowds, 
— the  rattle  of  coaches, — the  incessant  strokes  of 
workmen  employed  by  hundreds  in  the  erection  of 
balconies  and  scaffolds, — a  thousand  nameless  sounds, 
besides, — were  all  mingled  into  one  mighty  roar — the 
voice  of  the  city — resembling  at  a  distance  the  noise 
of  a  high  wind  in  a  leafless  wood,  or  the  murmur  of 
the  far-off  ocean  in  a  tempest.  The  streets  were  early 
astir.  There  were,  if  I  may  so  speak,  main  currents 
in  the  living  tide,  which  continued  to  flow  from  long 
before  noon  till  nightfall.  One  main  current  had  set 
in  towards  the  shore  ;  others  of  less  volume  and 
momentum,  and  more  broken  by  meeting  tides, 
flowed  full  in  the  direction  of  the  nearer  heights  which 
command  a  full  view  of  the  Firth.  The  Calton, 
blackened  by  its  moving  thousands,  resembled  a  huge 
ant-hill  just  stirred.  We  could  descry,  too,  in  the 
distance,  and  but  barely  descry,  that  the  upper  out- 
line of  Arthur's  Seat  was  roughened  by  its  anxious 
crowds.  But  in  no  locality  was  the  appearance 
exhibited  of  a  more  animating  or  impressive  char- 
acter than  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of 
Granton,  the  projected  scene  of  her  Majesty's  landing. 
It  was  in  this  direction  that  the  main  current  had  set 
in.  The  green  sloping  bank  which  runs  parallel  to 
the  shore,  at  the  distance  of  less  than  half  a  field's 
breadth  from  the  beach,  and  which  at  one  period 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  275 

must  have  formed  the  coast-line,  was  literally  black- 
ened by  spectators.  The  road  below  was  more  than 
equally  crowded, — the  broad  strip  of  beach  un- 
covered by  the  tide  was  mottled  by  its  restless  groups. 
Nor  was  the  Firth  beyond  less  a  scene  of  life  and 
animation.  Boats,  and  vessels  of  larger  size,  crowded 
by  their  pleasure  parties,  flitted  around  the  huge 
mole  which  here  projects  its  vast  length  into  the  sea, 
— now  casting  anchor,  now  again  making  sail,  and 
turning  their  heads  down  the  Firth,  as  if  in  eager 
anxiety  to  descry  the  expected  flotilla.  Steamboats, 
with  their  long  evanescent  trails  of  cloud,  went 
gliding  in  every  direction  athwart  the  blue  ;  ever  and 
anon  a  larger  vessel  hove  round,  and,  turning  her 
side  to  the  shore,  saluted  the  harbour  with  a  gun. 
The  echoes  rang  merrily ;  the  group  of  vessels  laid 
along  the  mole,  when  some  half-dozen  steamers  or 
so  moored  at  once  among  them,  seemed  as  if  enveloped 
in  cloud  and  darkness  ;  and  flag  and  pennon  waved 
sullenly  from  amid  the  smoke,  like  the  gauds  and 
braveries  of  life  when  dimmed  by  its  troubles.  The 
day  wore  fast  on  :  still  no  signal  intimated  from  cliff 
or  castle  that  the  royal  flotilla  had  entered  the  Firth. 
The  tides  and  winds  had  been  adverse  :  it  was  feared, 
too,  that  what  had  been  but  a  thin  fleecy  haze  ashore 
might  have  been  a  fog  at  sea.  All  expectations  of 
the  Queen's  arrival  before  nightfall  at  length  vanished, 
and  about  four  o'clock  the  vast  clouds  began  to  break 
up  and  disperse.  We  could  mark  not  a  few  blank 
countenances  among  the  humbler  pedestrians, — 
many  of  the  country  people  from  the  neighbouring 
counties,  who  had  just  got  their  single  day  to  see  the 
Queen,  and  who,  disappointed  once,  could  entertain 
no  hope  of  enjoying  a  second  opportunity.  We 

18— 3 


276          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

could  sympathize  in  the  vexation  manifested  by  a 
stalwart  shepherd  in  a  grey  maud,  who  had  left  his 
flock  on  the  previous  evening  on  a  hill -side  some  thirty 
miles  away,  as,  in  turning  from  his  conspicuous  and 
well-chosen  stand,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feeling  of  dis- 
appointment in  a  half-sad,  half-humorous,  '  Dash  it, 
and  will  I  no  see  her  after  a'  !' 

The  fall  of  evening  was  marked  by  a  scene  scarce 
less  striking  than  that  of  the  day,  though  of  a  char- 
acter altogether  different.  A  brown  haze  hung  over 
the  skirts  of  the  horizon,  dense  enough  to  blot  out 
the  whole  opposite  line  of  coast  and  the  wide  extent 
of  Firth  below,  and  yet  not  so  dense  but  that  the 
fires  kindled  up  on  all  the  more  conspicuous  heights 
shone  through,  each  surrounded  by  its  own  dusky 
halo.  A  dotted  outline  of  red  light  served  to  restore 
well-nigh  all  the  bolder  features  of  the  vanished 
landscape.  The  flames  rose  broad  and  high  on  the 
nearer  heights.  A  huge  uneven  pennon  of  fire 
flared  on  the  summit  of  Arthur's  Seat,  lighting  up  its 
own  swart  trail  of  smoke  with  an  umbry  red,  and 
converting  into  a  vast  halo,  of  more  than  a  thousand 
yards  diameter,  the  mist-wreaths  that  brooded 
above.  The  rugged  outline  of  Salisbury  Crags  stood 
out  distinctly  visible  in  the  foreground,  like  a  sketch 
in  black  richly  bronzed.  The  ridge  of  the  Pent- 
lands  had  its  three  fires  ;  the  Binny  and  Dalmahoy 
Crags,*  in  the  long  retiring  valley  to  the  west,  had 
each  their  beacon  ;  and  with  these,  many  a  solitary 
peak  besides,  where  the  unwonted  light  must  have 
scared  the  fox  in  his  lair  and  the  hawk  on  her  perch. 
The  Calton  Hill,  even  after  the  night  had  closed,  was 
crowded  by  its  thousands  of  spectators, — its  brown 
and  sombre  groups,  half  visible,  and  only  half,  by 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  277 

the  red  flickering  light  that  streamed  from  the  neigh- 
bouring hill.  There  was  a  charm  to  detain  them  in 
the  scene  itself, — well-nigh  one  of  the  most  sublime 
of  the  kind  ever  witnessed  ;  and  there  was  something 
for  the  imagination  to  lay  hold  of,  in  the  circumstance 
that  already  must  the  expected  flotilla  have  entered 
the  Firth, — a  long  dim  vista  tracked  in  fire  ;  and  that 
all  the  flaming  peaks  which  composed  the  line  on 
either  side  must  have  addressed  their  welcome  ere 
now  to  the  gaze  of  the  royal  voyager.  At  length  the 
flames  began  to  sink,  and  the  crowds  to  disperse. 

The  morning  rose  dull  and  drizzly,  but  it  cleared 
up  as  the  hours  passed  ;  and  ere  nine  o'clock,  though 
still  somewhat  gloomy,  it  had  become  at  least  dry 
overhead.  The  morning  papers  had  intimated  to 
the  city  the  arrival  of  the  royal  squadron  in  the  roads 
over  night.  And  at  seven  o'clock  a  signal-gun  had 
been  fired  from  the  Castle.  We  were  fortunate 
enough  not  to  know  exactly  what  the  latter  had  been 
intended  to  mean  ;  and,  inferring  that  it  just  inti- 
mated that  the  Queen  was  to  be  soon  visible,  we  set 
out  early,  determined,  at  all  events,  to  see  the  Queen. 
.  .  .  We  made  our  way  to  the  Calton,  where  we 
found  a  few  hundreds  already  assembled,  and  en- 
sconced ourselves  among  the  shrubbery  on  the  edge 
of  the  low  precipice  that  overhangs  the  road.  The 
Castle  guns  began  to  fire,  and  we  concluded  that  the 
Queen  had  just  touched  Scottish  ground.  .  .  .  The 
cry  arose,  '  Here  comes  the  military  !'  We  looked 
westward,  and  saw  that  Princes  Street,  from  the 
Mound  to  the  North  Bridge,  had  suddenly  become 
one  dense  sea  of  moving  heads,  and  that  every  cross- 
street  and  opening  was  pouring  in  its  thousands  to 
swell  the  amount.  There  was  a  minute  patch  of 


278          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

scarlet  inlaid  in  the  mass  ;  all  was  dingy  around  it ; 
and  it  came  moving  steadily  along  in  the  midst,  like 
a  float  of  drift-wood  falling  down  a  river.  This, 
thought  we,  must  be  the  van  of  the  procession, — the 
advanced  guard,  to  reconnoitre  and  clear  the  way  : 
the  main  body,  with  the  Queen,  must  still  be  a  con- 
siderable distance  behind.  The  patch  of  scarlet 
came  floating  on.  We  could  discern  bright  helmets 
and  the  glitter  of  steel  ;  we  could  mark  a  sudden 
crowding  to  the  windows, — a  hasty  rush  to  the  over- 
hanging galleries,  more  than  two-thirds  empty  but 
a  minute  before, — a  waving  of  handkerchiefs  and  of 
hats  ;  and  a  cry,  not  loud,  but  deep,  which  we  could 
scarce  term  a  cheer,  but  which  seemed  to  express  a 
deeper  feeling,  ran  along  the  line  of  spectators  as 
the  military  passed.  Could  this  be  the  Queen  ?  It 
was.  She  sat  in  a  low  open  carriage,  with  Prince 
Albert  on  her  left, — clear-complexioned,  but  pale, 
tastefully  but  plainly  dressed, — one  whom  in  private 
life  we  would  perhaps  describe  as  a  pretty  woman, 
very  thoroughly  the  lady  .  .  .  the  daughter  of  a 
hundred  kings,  and  a  monarch  on  whose  vast  do- 
minions the  sun  never  sets. 

HUGH    MILLER. 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE 


The  Palace  of  Holyrood  has  been  left  aside  in  the  growth  of 
Edinburgh.  ...  It  is  a  house  of  many  memories.  Great 
people  of  yore,  kings  and  queens,  buffoons  and  grave  am- 
bassadors, played  their  stately  farce  for  centuries  in  Holyrood. 

ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON. 

Palace  and  ruin,  bless  thee  evermore  ! 
Graceful  we  bow  thy  gloomy  tow'rs  before  ; 
For  the  old  Kings  of  France  hath  found  in  thee 
That  melancholy  hospitality 
Which  in  their  royal  fortune's  evil  day 
Stuarts  and  Bourbons  to  each  other  pay. 

VICTOR  HUGO  :  Holyrood  Palace. 


THE  ECHO  OF  THE  ROYAL  PORCH  OF  THE  PALACE 
OF  HOLYROOD  HOUSE 

WHICH    FELL   UNDER    MILITARY   EXECUTION,    1753 

YE  sons  of  Mars,  with  black  cockade, 
Who  wear  the  gun  and  murd'ring  blade, 
Against  your  foes  in  battle  hot, 
And  die,  or  conquer  on  the  spot ; 
To  devastation  ye  are  bred, 
By  blood  ye  swear,  and  blood's  your  trade. 
No — (Echo  then  reply 'd  aloud,) 
They  do  not  always  deal  in  blood  ; 
Nor  yet  in  breaking  human  bones  ; 
For  Quixot-like  they  knock  down  stones. 
Regardless  they  the  mattock  ply, 
To  root  out  Scots  antiquity. 
My  aged  arch  for  centuries  ten 
Hath  spared  been  by  Scottish  men. 
As  Judah's  porches,  sacred  mine, 
Where  kings  did  rule  by  right  divine. 
Your  ancient  Kings  did  enter  here, 
Tho'  strangers  now  for  many  a  year  ; 
And  many  barons  in  my  sight 
Were  honour 'd  with  the  title  '  Knight,' 
Whose  race  now  tamely  sees  my  fall, 
Relentless  at  my  mournful  call. 
When  Rec-coats  struck,  I  loud  did  shriek, 
And  to  Auld  Reikie  thus  did  speak  : 
'  What  is  my  crime  ?     Oh  !  what  my  blot  ?' 
Auld  Reikie  cried,  '  Thou'rt  an  old  Scot.' 
'  What  then  ?'  my  Echo  loud  did  cry, 
281 


282          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

'  Must  Scots  antiquity  now  die  ?' 
'  Yes,'  cried  Auld  Reikie,  '  die  you  must, 
For  ...  at  you  has  a  disgust. 
My  cross  likewise,  of  old  renown, 
Will  next  to  you  be  tumbled  down  ; 
And  by  degrees  each  ancient  place 
Will  perish  by  this  modern  race.' 
My  Echo  then  did  loud  rebound, 
With  cries  which  shook  the  neighbouring  ground ; 
And,  all  amazed,  the  soldier  bands 
Suspended  stood  with  trembling  hands  ; 
While  these  sad  accents  I  let  fly, 
Which  sharply  pierc'd  the  azure  sky  : 
'  Adieu,  Edina,  now  adieu, 

Fair  Scotia's  glory's  gone.' 
This  said,  she  bowed  her  ancient  head, 

And  gave  her  final  groan. 
Edina  echo'd  then  aloud, 

And  bid  her  long  farewell ; 
The  Calton  Hill  and  Arthur's  Seat 
Did  ring  her  parting  knell. 

CLAUDERO. 

TO  THE  PRINCESS  MARGARET 

ON    HER   ARRIVAL   AT   HOLYROOD 

Now  fayre,  fayrest  off  every  fayre, 
Princess  most  pleasant  and  preclare, 
The  lustyest  one  alyve  that  byne, 
Welcum  to  Scotland  to  be  Quene  ! 

Younge  tender  plant  of  pulcritud, 
Descendyd  of  Imperyalle  blode  ; 
Fresh  fragrant  floure  of  fayre  hede  shene, 
Welcum  of  Scotland  to  be  Quene  ! 


HOLY ROOD 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  283 

Sweet  lusty  lusum  lady  clere, 
Most  myghty  kynges  dochter  dere, 
Borne  of  a  princess  most  serene, 
Welcum  of  Scotland  to  be  Quene  ! 

Welcum  the  Rose  bothe  rede  and  whyte, 
Welcum  the  floure  of  oure  delyte  ! 
Our  secrete  rejoysyng  from  the  sone  beine, 
Welcum  of  Scotland  to  be  Quene  ! 

WILLIAM  DUNBAR. 


HOLYROOD  :  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  QUEEN'S 
CABINET 

THE  Queen,  as  he  [Des-Essars]  could  see,  lay  back  in 
her  elbow-chair  obviously  suffering,  picking  at  some 
food  before  her,  but  not  eating  any.  Her  lips  were 
chapped  and  dry  ;  she  moistened  them  continually, 
then  bit  them.  Lady  Argyll,  handsome,  strong- 
featured,  and  swarthy,  sat  bolt  upright  and  stared 
at  the  sconce  on  the  wall ;  and  as  for  the  Italian,  he 
did  as  he  always  did,  lounged  opposite  his  Queen,  his 
head  against  the  wainscot.  Reflective  after  food,  he 
used  his  toothpick,  but  no  other  ceremony  what- 
soever. He  wore  his  cap  on  his  head,  ignored  Lady 
Argyll — half-sister  to  the  throne — and  when  he 
looked  at  her  Majesty,  as  he  often  did,  it  was  as  a 
man  might  look  at  his  wife.  She,  although  she 
seemed  too  weary  or  too  indifferent  to  lift  her  heavy 
eyelids,  knew  perfectly  well  that  both  her  companions 
were  watching  her  :  Des-Essars  was  sure  of  that.  He 
watched  her  himself  intensely,  and  only  once  saw  her 
meet  Davy's  eye,  when  she  passed  her  cup  to  him  to 
be  filled  with  drink,  and  he,  as  if  thankful  to  be 


284          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

active,  poured  the  wine  with  a  flourish  and  smiled  in 
her  face  as  he  served  her.  She  observed  both  act  and 
actor,  and  made  no  sign,  neither  drank  from  the  cup 
now  she  had  it,  but  sank  back  to  her  wretchedness 
and  the  contemplation  of  it,  being  in  that  pettish, 
brooding  habit  of  mind  which  would  rather  run  on  in 
a  groove  of  pain  than  brace  itself  to  some  new  shift. . . . 

The  little  cabinet  was  very  dim.  There  were 
candles  on  the  table,  but  none  alight  in  the  sconces. 
From  beyond,  through  a  half-open  door,  came  the 
drowsy  voices  of  the  Queen's  women,  murmuring 
their  way  through  two  more  hours'  vigil.  Intermin- 
able nights  !  Cards  would  follow  supper,  you  must 
know,  and  Signior  Davy  would  try  to  outsit  Lady 
Argyll.  He  always  tried,  and  generally  succeeded. 

The  Queen  shifted,  sighed,  and  played  hasty  tunes 
with  her  fingers  on  the  table  :  she  was  never  still.  It 
was  evident  that  she  was  at  once  very  wretched  and 
very  irritable.  Her  dark-red  gown  was  cut  low  and 
square,  Venetian  mode  :  Des-Essars  could  see  quite 
well  how  short  her  breath  was,  and  how  quick.  Yet 
she  said  nothing.  Once  she  and  Lady  Argyll  ex- 
changed glances  ;  the  Mistress  of  the  Robes  inquired 
with  her  eyebrows,  the  Queen  fretfully  shook  the 
question  away.  It  was  an  unhappy  supper  for  all 
but  the  graceless  Italian,  who  was  much  at  his  ease 
now  that  he  had  unfastened  some  of  the  hooks  of  his 
jacket.  The  French  lad,  who  had  always  been  in 
love  with  his  mistress  and  yet  able  to  criticize  her — 
as  a  Protestant  may  adore  the  Virgin  Mary — admits 
that  at  this  moment  of  her  life,  in  this  bitter  mood, 
he  found  her  extremely  piquant.  '  This  pale,  help- 
less, angry,  pretty  woman  !'  he  exclaims  upon  his 
page.  He  would  seldom  allow  that  she  was  more 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  285 

than  just  a  pretty  woman  ;  and  now  she  was  a  good 
deal  less.  Her  charms  for  him  had  never  been  of 
the  face — she  had  an  allure  of  her  own.  '  Mistress 
Seton  was  lovely,  I  consider,  my  Lady  Bothwell 
most  beautiful,  and  Mistress  Fleming  not  far  short  of 
that  :  but  the  Queen's  Majesty — ah  !  the  coin  from 
Mr.  Knox's  mint  rang  true.  Honeypot  !  Honey- 
pot  !  There  you  had  her  essence  :  sleepy,  slow,  soft 
sweetness — with  a  sharp  after-taste,  for  all  that,  to 
prick  the  tongue  and  set  it  longing.' 

More  than  nice  considerations,  these,  which  the 
stealthy  opening  of  a  door  and  a  step  in  the  passage 
disturbed.  Des-Essars  would  have  straightened  him- 
self on  that  signal,  to  stand  as  a  page  should  stand  in 
the  view  of  any  one  entering.  Then  he  saw,  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  the  King  go  down  the  little 
stair.  It  must  be  the  King,  because — to  say  nothing 
of  the  tall  figure,  small-headed  as  it  was, — he  had 
seen  the  long  white  gown.  The  King  wore  a  white 
quilted  silk  bedgown,  lined  with  ermine.  At  the 
turning  of  the  stair  Des-Essars  saw  him  just  glance 
backwards  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  cabinet,  but, 
being  stiff  within  the  shadow  of  the  curtain,  was  not 
himself  seen.  After  that  furtive  look  he  saw  him  go 
down  the  privy  stair,  his  hand  on  the  rope.  Obviously 
he  had  an  assignation  with  some  woman  below. 

Before  he  had  time  to  correct  this  conclusion  by 
the  memory  of  the  cloaked  men  in  the  hall,  he  heard 
returning  steps — somebody,  this  time,  coming  up 
the  steps  ;  no  !  there  were  more  than  one — two  or 
three  at  least.  He  was  sure  of  this — his  ears  had 
never  deceived  him — and  yet  it  was  the  King  alone 
who  appeared  at  the  stair-head  with  a  lighted  taper 
in  his  hand,  which  he  must  have  got  from  the  hall. 


286          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

He  stood  there  for  a  moment,  his  face  showing  white 
and  strained  in  the  light,  his  mouth  open,  too  ;  then, 
blowing  out  his  taper,  he  came  directly  to  the  curtain 
of  the  Queen's  cabinet,  pulled  it  aside  and  went  in. 
He  had  actually  covered  Des-Essars  with  the  curtain 
without  a  notion  that  he  was  there  ;  but  the  youth 
had  had  time  to  observe  that  he  was  fully  dressed 
beneath  his  gown,  and  to  get  a  hot  whiff  of  the  strong 
waters  in  his  breath  as  he  passed  in.  Urgent  to  see 
what  all  this  might  mean,  he  peeped  through  the 
hangings. 

Lady  Argyll  rose  up  slowly  when  she  saw  the  King, 
but  made  no  reverence.  Very  few  did  in  these  days. 
The  Italian  followed  her  example,  perfectly  com- 
posed. The  Queen  took  no  notice  of  him.  She 
rested  as  she  had  been,  her  head  on  the  droop,  eye- 
brows raised,  eyes  fixed  on  the  disordered  platter. 
The  King,  whose  colour  was  very  high,  came  behind 
her  chair,  stooped,  and  put  his  arm  round  her.  His 
hand  covered  her  bosom.  She  did  not  avoid,  though 
she  did  not  relish  this. 

'  Madam,  it  is  very  late,'  he  said,  and  spoke 
breathlessly. 

'  It  is  not  I  who  detain  you,'  said  she. 

'  No,  madam,  no.  But  you  do  detain  these  good 
servants  of  yours.  Here  is  your  sister  of  Argyll  ; 
next  door  are  your  women.  And  so  it  is  night  after 
night.  I  think  not  of  myself.' 

She  lifted  her  head  a  little  to  look  up  sideways — but 
not  at  him.  '  You  think  of  very  little  else,  to  my 
understanding.  Having  brought  me  to  the  state 
where  now  I  am,  you  are  inclined  to  leave  me  alone. 
Rather,  you  were  inclined  ;  for  this  is  a  new  humour, 
little  to  my  taste.' 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  287 

'  I  should  be  oftener  here,  believe  me,'  says  the 
King,  still  embracing  her,  '  if  I  could  feel  more  sure 
of  a  welcome — if  all  might  be  again  as  it  was  once 
between  you  and  me.' 

She  laughed,  without  mirth  ;  then  asked,  '  And  how 
was  it — once  ?' 

The  King  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  forehead, 
by  the  same  act  gently  pushing  back  her  head  till 
it  rested  on  his  shoulder. 

'  Thus  it  was  once,  my  Mary,'  he  said  ;  and  as  she 
looked  up  into  his  face,  wondering  over  it,  searching 
it,  he  kissed  her  again.  '  Thus  it  was  once/  he  re- 
peated in  a  louder  voice ;  and  then,  louder  yet, 
'  Thus,  O  Queen  of  Scots  !' 

Once  more  he  kissed  her,  and  once  more  cried  out, 
'  O  Queen  of  Scots  !'  Then  Des-Essars  heard  the 
footsteps  begin  again  on  the  privy  stair,  and  saw 
men  come  into  the  passage — many  men. 

Three  of  them,  in  cloaks  and  steel  bonnets,  came 
quickly  to  the  door,  and  passed  him.  They  went 
through  the  curtain.  These  three  were  Lord  Ruth- 
ven,  Ker  of  Fawdonsyde,  and  Mr.  Archibald  Douglas. 
Rigid  in  his  shadow,  Des-Essars  watched  all. 

Seeing  events  in  the  Italian's  eyes,  rather  than  with 
her  own — for  Signior  Davy  had  narrowed  his  to  two 
threads  of  blue — the  Queen  lifted  her  head  from  her 
husband's  arm  and  looked  curiously  round.  The 
three  stood  hesitant  within  the  door  ;  Ruthven  had 
his  cap  on  his  head,  Fawdonsyde  his,  but  Archie 
showed  his  grey  poll.  Little  things  like  these 
angered  her  quickly ;  she  shook  free  from  the  King 
and  sat  upright. 

'  What  is  this,  my  Lord  Ruthven  ?  You  forget 
yourself.' 


288          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

'  Madam '  he  began  ;  but  Douglas  nudged  him 

furiously. 

'  Your  bonnet,  man,  your  bonnet  !' 

The  Queen  had  risen,  and  the  fixed  direction  of  her 
eyes  gave  him  understanding. 

'  Ah,  my  knapscall !  I  do  as  others  do,  madam,' 
he  said,  with  a  meaning  look  at  the  Italian.  '  What 
is  pleasant  to  your  Majesty  in  yonder  servant  should 
not  be  an  offence  in  a  counciDor.' 

'  No,  no,  ma'am,  nor  it  should  not,'  muttered 
Fawdonsyde,  who,  nevertheless,  doffed  his  bonnet. 

The  King  was  holding  her  again,  she  staring  still 
at  the  scowling  man  in  steel.  '  What  do  you  want 
with  me,  Ruthven  ?'  she  said.  She  had  very  dry 
lips. 

He  made  a  clumsy  bow.  '  May  it  please  your 
Majesty,'  he  said,  '  we  are  come  to  rid  you  of  this 
fellow  Davy,  who  has  been  overlong  familiar  here, 
and  overmuch — for  your  Majesty's  honour.' 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  King,  whose  arm  still 
held  her — a  white,  strong  face. 

'  You,'  she  said  fiercely,  '  what  have  you  to  do  in 
this  ?  What  have  you  to  say  ?' 

'  I  think  with  Ruthven — with  all  of  them — my 
friends  and  well-wishers.  'Tis  the  common  voice  : 
they  say  I  am  betrayed,  upon  my  soul !  I  cannot 
endure — I  entreat  you  to  trust  me '  He  was  in- 
coherent. 

She  broke  away  from  his  arm,  took  a  step  forward 
and  put  herself  between  him  and  the  three.  She  was 
so  angry  that  she  could  not  find  words.  She  stam- 
mered, began  to  speak,  rejected  what  words  came. 
The  Italian  took  off  his  cap  and  watched  Ruthven 
intently.  The  moment  of  pause  that  ensued  was 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  289 

broken  by  Ruthven's  raising  his  hand,  for  the  Queen 
flashed  out,  '  Put  down  your  hand,  sir  !'  and  seemed 
as  if  she  would  have  struck  him.  Fawdonsyde  here 
cocked  his  pistol  and  deliberately  raised  it  against 
the  Queen's  person.  '  Treason  !  treason  !'  shrieked 
Des-Essars  from  the  curtain,  and  blundered  forward 
to  the  villain. 

But  the  Queen  had  been  before  him  ;  at  last  she 
had  found  words,  and  deeds.  She  drew  herself  up, 
quivering,  went  directly  towards  Fawdonsyde,  and 
beat  down  the  point  of  the  pistol  with  her  flat  hand. 
'  Do  you  dare  so  much  ?  Then  I  dare  more.  What 
shameless  thing  do  you  here  ?  If  I  had  a  sword  in 

my  hand '    Here  she  stopped,  tongue-tied  at  what 

was  done  to  her. 

For  Ruthven,  regardless  of  majesty,  had  got  her 
round  the  middle.  He  pushed  her  back  into  the 
King's  arms  ;  and,  '  Take  your  wife,  my  lord,'  says 
he ;  '  take  your  good-wife  in  your  arms  and  cherish 
her,  while  we  do  what  must  be  done.' 

The  King  held  her  fast  in  spite  of  her  struggles. 
At  that  moment  the  Italian  made  a  rattling  sound 
in  his  throat  and  backed  from  the  table.  Archie 
Douglas  stepped  behind  the  King,  to  get  round  the 
little  room  ;  Ruthven  approached  his  victim  from  the 
other  side  ;  the  Italian  pulled  at  the  table,  got  it 
between  himself  and  the  enemy,  and  overset  it  :  then 
Lady  Argyll  screamed,  and  snatched  at  a  candle- 
stick as  all  went  down.  It  was  the  only  light  left  in 
the  room,  held  up  in  her  hand  like  a  beacon  above  a 
tossing  sea.  Where  was  Des-Essars  ?  Cuffed  aside 
to  the  wall,  like  a  rag  doll.  The  maids  were  packed 
in  the  door  of  the  bedchamber,  and  one  of  them  had 
pulled  him  into  safety  among  them. 

19 


290          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

All  that  followed  he  marked  :  how  the  frenzied 
Italian,  hedged  in  between  Douglas  and  Ruthven, 
vaulted  the  table,  knocked  over  Fawdonsyde,  and 
then,  whimpering  like  a  woman,  crouched  by  the 
Queen,  his  fingers  in  the  pleats  of  her  gown.  He 
saw  the  King's  light  eyelashes  blink,  and  heard  his 
breath  come  whistling  through  his  nose  ;  and  that 
pale,  disfigured  girl,  held  up  closely  against  her  hus- 
band, moaning  and  hiding  her  face  in  his  breast. 
And  now  Ruthven,  grinning  horribly,  swearing  to 
himself,  and  Douglas,  whining  like  a  dog  at  a  rat- 
hole,  were  at  their  man's  hands,  trying  to  drag  him 
off.  Fawdonsyde  hovered  about,  hopeful  to  help. 
Lady  Argyll  held  up  the  candle. 

Douglas  wrenched  open  one  hand,  Ruthven  got 
his  head  down  and  bit  the  other  till  it  parted. 

'  0  Dio  !  0  Dio  /'  long  shuddering  cries  went  up 
from  the  Italian  as  they  dragged  him  out  into  the 
passage,  where  the  others  waited. 

It  was  dark  there,  and  one  knew  not  how  full  of 
men  ;  but  Des-Essars  heard  them  snarling  and  mauling 
like  a  pack  of  wolves  ;  heard  the  scuffling,  the  panting, 
the  short  oaths — and  then  a  piercing  scream.  At 
that  there  was  silence  ;  then  some  one  said,  as  he 
struck,  '  There  !  there  !  Hog  of  Turin  !'  and  another 
(Lindsay),  '  He's  done.' 

The  King  put  the  Queen  among  her  maids  in  a 
hurry,  and  went  running  out  into  the  passage  as  they 
were  shuffling  the  body  down  the  stair.  Des-Essars 
just  noticed,  and  remembered  afterwards,  his  naked 
dagger  in  his  hand  as  he  went  out  helter-skelter  after 
his  friends.  Upon  some  instinct  or  other,  he  followed 
him  as  far  as  the  head  of  the  stair.  From  the  bottom 
came  up  a  great  clamour — howls  of  execration,  one 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  291 

or  two  cries  for  the  King,  a  round  of  welcome  when  he 
appeared.  The  page  ran  back  to  the  cabinet,  and 
found  it  dark. 

It  was  bad  to  hear  the  Queen's  laughter  in  the  bed- 
chamber— worse  when  that  shuddered  out  into 
moaning,  and  she  began  to  wail  as  if  she  were  keening 
her  dead.  He  could  not  bear  it,  so  crept  out  again 
to  spy  about  the  passages  and  listen  to  the  shouting 
from  the  hall.  '  A  Douglas  !  a  Douglas  !'  was  the 
most  common  cry.  Peeping  through  a  window 
which  gave  on  to  the  front,  he  saw  the  snowy  court 
ablaze  with  torches,  alive  with  men,  and  against  the 
glare  the  snowflakes  whirling  by,  like  smuts  from  a 
burning  chimney.  It  was  clear  enough  now  that  the 
palace  was  held,  all  its  inmates  prisoners.  But  what 
seemed  more  terrifying  than  that  was  the  emptiness 
of  the  upper  corridors,  the  sudden  hush  after  so  much 
riot — and  the  Queen's  moan,  haunting  all  the  dark 
like  a  lost  soul. 

MAURICE   HEWLETT. 
ON  A  MIRROR  IN  HOLYROOD  PALACE 

ONE  could  muse  for  many  an  hour  over  the  little 
Venetian  mirror  that  hangs  in  the  bedroom  of  Mary 
Stuart  in  Holyrood  Palace.  What  faces  and  what 
scenes  it  must  have  reflected  !  How  often  her  own 
beautiful  countenance  and  person, — the  dazzling 
eyes,  the  snowy  brow,  the  red  gold  hair,  the  alabaster 
bosom — may  have  blazed  in  its  crystal  depths,  now 
tarnished  and  dim,  like  th<  record  of  her  own  calami- 
tous and  wretched  days  !  Did  those  lovely  eyes  look 
into  this  mirror — and  was  their  glance  scared  and 
tremulous,  or  fixed  and  terrible — on  that  dismal 

19 — 2 


292          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

February  night,  so  many  years  ago,  when  the  fatal 
explosion  in  the  Kirk  o'  Field  resounded  with  an 
echo  that  has  never  died  away  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
This  glass  saw  the  gaunt  and  livid  face  of  Ruthven 
when  he  led  his  comrades  of  murder  into  that  royal 
chamber,  and  it  beheld  Rizzio  screaming  in  mortal 
terror  as  he  was  torn  from  the  skirts  of  his  mistress 
and  savagely  slain  before  her  eyes.  Perhaps,  also, 
when  that  hideous  episode  was  over  and  done  with,  it 
saw  Queen  Mary  and  her  despicable  husband  the  next 
time  they  met  and  were  alone  together  in  that  ghastly 
room.  '  It  shall  be  dear  blood  to  some  of  you,'  the 
Queen  had  said,  while  the  murder  of  Rizzio  was  doing. 
Surely,  having  so  injured  a  woman,  any  man  with 
eyes  to  see  might  have  divined  his  fate,  in  the  perfect 
calm  of  her  heavenly  face  and  the  quiet  tones  of  her 
gentle  voice,  at  such  a  moment  as  that.  '  At  the 
fireside  tragedies  are  acted ' — and  tragic  enough 
must  have  been  the  scene  of  that  meeting,  apart  from 
human  gaze  in  the  chamber  of  crime  of  death.  No 
other  relic  of  Mary  Stuart  stirs  the  imagination  as 
this  mirror  does — unless,  perhaps,  it  be  the  little 
ebony  crucifix  once  owned  and  reverenced  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  and  now  piously  treasured  at  Abbots  - 
ford,  which  she  held  in  her  hands  when  she  went  to 
her  death  in  the  hall  of  Fotheringay  Castle. 

WILLIAM   WINTER. 


HOLYROOD 

THE  moon  held  court  in  Holyrood  last  night — ten 

thousand  stars 
By  ancient  tower  and  archway  climbed  and  kissed  the 

window  bars ; 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  293 

The  night  wind  knelt  upon  the  hill,  the  crouching  lion 

lay 
With  shoulder  to  the  Capital  and  blind  eyes  to  the 

Bay. 

The  moon  held  court  in  Holyrood,  and,  as  she  entered 

in, 
On  damask  fringe  and  tapestry  the  spider  ceased  to 

spin  ; 
The  slow  moon  slipped  across  the  floor  and  bowed  a 

queenly  head  • 

To  greet  the  train  that  passed  her  by — a  thousand 

sleepless  dead  ! 

She  drifted  down  the  storied  halls  and  touched  with 

spread  white  wings 
The  gallery  of  the  Hundred  Dead,  the  Corridor  of 

Kings  ; 
She  smiled  upon  a  rebel  prince  and  stretched  white 

hands  to  shrive 
The  gallant  men,  the  peerless  maids,  that  danced  in 

'Forty-five. 

She  crossed  a  sleeping  chamber  hung  with  trappings 

rich  and  rare, 
And  kissed  them  softly  one  by  one — it  was  a  queen 

lay  there  ! 
She  heard  the  lute  notes  rise  and  fall,  and  watched  the 

dagger  sped, 
While  underneath  her  trembling  wings  the   brown 

stain  turned  to  red  ! 

The  moon  kept  court  in  Holyrood,  and  from  the 

northern  tower 
She  looked  along  the  High  Street  sad  at  heart  for 

Scotland's  flower, 


294          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

And  looking  saw  a  rider  pass,  pale-iaced  and  battle- 
worn, 

Beneath  the  drooping  Flodden  flag,  all  red  and 
slashed  and  torn  ! 

The  moon  passed  out  of  Holyrood,  white-lipped,  to 

open  sky  ; 
The  night-wind  whimpered  on  the  Crags  to  see  the 

ghosts  go  by ; 

And  stately,  silent,  sorrowful,  the  lonely  lion  lay — 
Gaunt  shoulder  to  the  Capital  and  blind  eyes  to  the 

Bay. 

WILL   H.    OGILVIE. 


OVER  THE  BRIG 

'  Yon  river  is  called  the  Tweed  ;  and  yonder,  over  the  brig,  is 
Scotland.  Did  ye  never  hear  of  the  Tweed,  my  bonny  man  ?' 

WE  found  ourselves  at  Edinburgh,  or  rather  in  the 
Castle,  into  which  the  regiment  marched  with  drums 
beating,  colours  flying,  and  a  long  train  of  baggage- 
waggons  behind.  The  Castle  was,  as  I  suppose  it 
is  now,  a  garrison  for  soldiers.  .  .  . 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  much  about  this 
Castle,  which  everybody  has  seen  ;  on  which  account, 
doubtless,  nobody  has  ever  yet  thought  fit  to  describe 
it — at  least  that  I  am  aware.  Be  this  as  it  may,  I 
have  no  intention  of  describing  it,  and  shall  content 
myself  with  observing  that  we  took  up  our  abode  in 
that  immense  building  or  caserne,  of  modern  erection, 
which  occupies  the  entire  eastern  side  of  the  bold 
rock  on  which  the  Castle  stands.  A  gallant  caserne 
it  was — the  best  and  roomiest  that  I  had  hitherto 
seen — rather  cold  and  windy,  it  is  true,  especially  in 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  295 

the  winter,  but  commanding  a  noble  prospect  of  a 
range  of  distant  hills,  which  I  was  told  were  '  the 
hieland  hills,'  and  of  a  broad  arm  of  the  sea,  which 
I  heard  somebody  say  was  the  Firth  of  Forth.  .  .  . 

The  Castle  on  which  I  dwelt  stood  upon  a  rock,  a 
bold  and  craggy  one,  which,  at  first  sight,  would  seem 
to  bid  defiance  to  any  feet  save  those  of  goats  and 
chamois  ;  but  patience  and  perseverance  generally 
enable  mankind  to  overcome  things  which,  at  first 
sight,  appear  impossible.  Indeed,  what  is  there 
above  man's  exertions  ?  Unwearied  determination 
will  enable  him  to  run  with  the  horse,  to  swim  with 
the  fish,  and  assuredly  to  compete  with  the  chamois 
and  the  goat  in  agility  and  sureness  of  foot.  To  scale 
the  rock  was  merely  child's  play  for  the  Edinbro' 
callants.  It  was  my  own  favourite  diversion.  I 
soon  found  that  the  rock  contained  all  manner  of 
strange  crypts,  crannies,  and  recesses,  where  owls 
nestled,  and  the  weasel  brought  forth  her  young  ; 
here  and  there  were  small  natural  platforms,  over- 
grown with  long  grass  and  various  kinds  of  plants, 
where  the  climber,  if  so  disposed,  could  stretch 
himself,  and  either  give  his  eyes  to  sleep  or  his  mind 
to  thought  ;  for  capital  places  were  these  same  plat- 
forms either  for  repose  or  meditation.  The  boldest 
features  of  the  rock  are  descried  on  the  southern  side, 
where,  after  shelving  down  gently  from  the  wall  for 
some  distance,  it  terminates  abruptly  in  a  precipice, 
black  and  horrible,  of  some  three  hundred  feet  at 
least,  as  if  the  axe  of  nature  had  been  here  employed 
cutting  sheer  down,  and  leaving  behind  neither  ex- 
crescence nor  spur — a  dizzy  precipice  it  is,  assimi- 
lating much  to  those  so  frequent  in  the  flinty  hills  of 
Northern  Africa,  and  exhibiting  some  distant  re- 


296          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

semblance  to  that  of  Gibraltar,  towering  in  its  horrid- 
ness  above  the  neutral  ground. 

It  was  now  holiday  time,  and  having  nothing  par- 
ticular wherewith  to  occupy  myself,  I  not  unfre- 
quently  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  day  upon  the 
rocks.  Once,  after  scaling  the  western  crags,  and 
creeping  round  a  sharp  angle  of  the  wall,  overhung  by 
a  kind  of  watch  tower,  I  found  myself  on  the  southern 
side.  Still  keeping  close  to  the  wall,  I  was  proceeding 
onward,  for  I  was  bent  upon  a  long  excursion  which 
should  embrace  half  the  circuit  of  the  Castle,  when 
suddenly  my  eye  was  attracted  by  the  appearance 
of  something  red,  far  below  me  ;  I  stopped  short, 
and,  looking  fixedly  upon  it,  perceived  that  it  was  a 
human  being  in  a  kind  of  red  jacket,  seated  on  the 
extreme  verge  of  the  precipice,  which  I  have  already 
made  a  faint  attempt  to  describe.  Wondering  who 
it  could  be,  I  shouted  ;  but  it  took  not  the  slightest 
notice,  remaining  as  immovable  as  the  rock  on  which 
it  sat.  '  I  should  never  have  thought  of  going  near 
that  edge,'  said  I  to  myself  ;  '  however,  as  you  have 
done  it,  why  should  not  I  ?  And  I  should  like  to 
know  who  you  are.'  So  I  commenced  the  descent 
of  the  rock,  but  with  great  care,  for  I  had  as  yet  never 
been  in  a  situation  so  dangerous  ;  a  slight  moisture 
exuded  from  the  palms  of  my  hands,  my  nerves  were 
tingling,  and  my  brain  was  somewhat  dizzy — and 
now  I  had  arrived  within  a  few  yards  of  the  figure. 
...  A  small  stone  which  I  dislodged  now  rolled 
down  the  rock,  and  tumbled  into  the  abyss  close 
beside  him.  He  turned  his  head,  and  after  looking 
at  me  for  a  moment  somewhat  vacantly,  he  resumed 
his  former  attitude.  I  drew  yet  nearer  to  the  hor- 
rible edge  ;  not  close,  however,  for  fear  was  on  me. 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  297 

'  What  are  you  thinking  of,  David  ?'  said  I,  as  I 
sat  behind  him  and  trembled,  for  I  repeat  that  I  was 
afraid. 

David  Haggart.  I  was  thinking  of  Willie  Wallace. 

Myself.  You  had  better  be  thinking  of  yourself, 
man.  A  strange  place  this  to  come  to  and  think  of 
William  Wallace. 

David  Haggart.  Why  so  ?  Is  not  his  tower  just 
beneath  our  feet  ? 

Myself.  You  mean  the  auld  ruin  by  the  side  of 
Nor  Loch — the  ugly  stane  bulk,  from  the  foot  of 
which  flows  the  spring  into  the  dyke,  where  the 
watercresses  grow  ? 

David  Haggart.  Just  sae,  Geordie. 

Myself.  And  why  were  ye  thinking  of  him  ?  The 
English  hanged  him  long  since,  as  I  have  heard 
say. 

David  Haggart.  I  was  thinking  that  I  should  wish 
to  be  like  him. 

Myself.  Do  ye  mean  that  ye  would  wish  to  be 
hanged  ? 

David  Haggart.  I  wad  na  flinch  from  that,  Geordie, 
if  I  might  be  a  great  man  first. 

Myself.  And  wha  kens,  Davie,  how  great  you  may 
be,  even  without  hanging  ?  Are  ye  not  in  the  high 
road  of  preferment  ?  Are  ye  not  a  bauld  drummer 
already  ?  Wha  kens  how  high  ye  may  rise  ?  perhaps 
to  be  general,  or  drum-major. 

David  Haggart.  I  hae  na  wish  to  be  drum-major  ; 
it  were  na  great  things  to  be  like  the  doited  carle, 
Elsethan-gude,  as  they  call  him  ;  and,  troth,  he  has 
nae  his  name  for  naething.  But  I  should  have  nae 
objection  to  be  a  general,  and  to  fight  the  French  and 
Americans,  and  win  myself  a  name  and  a  fame  like 


298          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Willie  Wallace,  and  do  brave  deeds,  such  as  I  have 
been  reading  about  in  his  story  book. 

Myself.  Ye  are  a  fule,  Davie  ;  the  story  book  is 
full  of  lies.  Wallace,  indeed  !  the  wuddie  rebel !  I 
have  heard  my  father  say  that  the  Duke  of  Cumber- 
land was  worth  twenty  of  Willie  Wallace. 

David  Haggart.  Ye  had  better  sae  naething  agin 
Willie  Wallace,  Geordie,  for,  if  ye  do,  de'il  hae  me,  if 
I  dinna  tumble  ye  doon  the  craig. 

GEORGE    BORROW. 


THE  CASTLE  ROCK  :  THE  EYE  OF  THE  LANDSCAPE 

IN  every  point  of  view,  however,  the  main  centre  of 
attraction  is  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh.  From  what- 
ever side  you  approach  the  city,  whether  by  water 
or  by  land,  whether  your  foreground  consist  of  height 
or  plain,  of  heath,  of  trees,  or  of  the  buildings  of  the 
city  itself,  this  gigantic  rock  lifts  itself  high  above  all 
that  surrounds  it,  and  breaks  upon  the  sky  with  the 
same  commanding  blackness  of  mingled  crags,  cliffs, 
buttresses,  and  battlements.  These,  indeed,  shift 
and  vary  their  outlines  at  every  step,  but  everywhere 
there  is  the  same  unmoved  effect  of  general  expres- 
sion, the  same  lofty  and  imposing  image,  to  which 
the  eye  turns  with  the  same  unquestioning  worship. 
Whether  you  pass  on  the  southern  side,  close  under 
the  bare  and  shattered  blocks  of  granite,  where  the 
crumbling  turrets  on  the  summit  seem  as  if  they  had 
shot  out  of  the  kindred  rock  in  some  fantastic  freak 
of  Nature,  and  where,  amidst  the  overhanging  mass 
of  darkness,  you  vainly  endeavour  to  descry  the  track 
by  which  Wallace  scaled  ;  whether  you  look  from  the 
north,  where  the  rugged  cliffs  find  room  for  some 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  299 

scanty  patches  of  moss  and  broom,  to  diversify  their 
barren  grey,  and  where  the  whole  mass  is  softened 
into  beauty  by  the  wild  green  glen  which  intervenes 
between  the  spectator  and  its  foundations,  wherever 
you  are  placed,  and  however  it  is  viewed,  you  feel  at 
once  that  here  is  the  eye  of  the  landscape,  and  the 
essence  of  the  grandeur. 

Neither  is  it  possible  to  say  under  what  sky  or 
atmosphere  all  this  appears  to  the  greatest  advantage. 
The  heavens  may  put  on  what  aspect  they  choose, 
they  never  fail  to  adorn  it.  Changes  that  elsewhere 
deform  the  face  of  Nature,  and  rob  her  of  half  her 
beauty,  seem  to  pass  over  this  majestic  surface  only 
to  dress  out  its  majesty  in  some  new  apparel  of 
magnificence.  If  the  air  is  cloudless  and  serene, 
what  can  be  finer  than  the  calm  reposing  dignity  of 
those  old  towers — every  delicate  angle  of  fissured 
rock,  every  loop-hole  and  every  lineament  seen  clearly 
and  distinctly  in  all  their  minuteness  ?  or,  if  the  mist 
be  wreathed  around  the  basis  of  the  rock,  and  frown- 
ing fragments  of  the  citadel  emerge  only  here  and 
there  from  out  the  racking  clouds  that  envelop  them, 
the  mystery  and  the  gloom  only  rivet  the  eye  the 
faster,  and  half-baffled  Imagination  does  more  than 
the  work  of  Sight.  At  times,  the  whole  detail  is 
lost  to  the  eye  ;  one  murky  tinge  of  impenetrable 
brown  wraps  rock  and  fortress  from  the  root  to  the 
summit  ;  all  is  lost  but  the  outline  :  but  the  outline 
atones  abundantly  for  all  that  is  lost.  The  cold 
glare  of  the  sun,  plunging  slowly  down  into  a  melan- 
choly west  beyond  them,  makes  all  the  broken  laby- 
rinth of  towers,  batteries,  and  house-tops  paint  their 
heavy  breadth  in  tenfold  subtle  magnitude  upon  that 
lurid  canvas.  At  break  of  day  how  beautiful  is  the 


300          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

freshness  with  which  the  venerable  pile  appears  to 
rouse  itself  from  its  sleep,  and  look  up  once  more  with 
a  bright  eye  into  the  sharp  and  dewy  air  !  At  the 
'  grim  and  sultry  hour '  of  noon,  with  what  languid 
grandeur  the  broad  flag  seems  to  flap  its  long  weight 
of  folds  above  the  glowing  battlements  !  When  the 
daylight  goes  down  in  purple  glory,  what  lines  of 
gold  creep  along  the  hoary  brow  of  its  antique 
strength  !  When  the  whole  heaven  is  deluged,  and 
the  winds  are  roaring  fiercely,  and  '  snow  and  hail, 
and  stormy  vapour,'  are  let  loose  to  make  war  upon 
its  front,  with  what  an  air  of  pride  does  the  veteran 
citadel  brave  all  their  well-known  wrath,  '  cased  in 
the  unfeeling  armour  of  old  time  !'  The  Capitol 
itself  is  but  a  pigmy  to  this  giant. 

But  here,  as  everywhere,  moonlight  is  the  best. 
Wherever  I  spend  the  evening,  I  must  always  walk 
homewards  by  the  long  line  of  Princes  Street  ;  and 
along  all  that  spacious  line,  the  midnight  shadows  of 
the  Castle  rock  for  ever  spread  themselves  forth,  and 
wrap  the  ground  on  which  I  tread  in  their  broad 
repose  of  blackness.  It  is  not  possible  to  imagine  a 
more  majestic  accompaniment  for  the  deep  pause  of 
that  hour.  The  uniform  splendour  of  the  habita- 
tions on  the  left  opening  every  now  and  then  broken 
glimpses  up  into  the  very  heart  of  the  modern  city  ; 
the  magnificent  terrace  itself,  with  its  stable  breadth 
of  surface  ;  the  few  dying  lamps  that  here  and  there 
glimmer  faintly  ;  and  no  sound,  but  the  heavy  tread 
of  some  far-off  watchman  of  the  night.  This  alone 
might  be  enough,  and  it  is  more  than  almost  any 
other  city  could  afford.  But  turn  to  the  right  and 
see  what  a  glorious  contrast  is  there.  The  eternal 
rock  sleeping  in  the  stillness  of  Nature  ;  its  cliffs  of 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  301 

granite,  its  tufts,  all  alike  steeped  in  the  same  un- 
varying hue  of  mystery  ;  its  towers  and  pinnacles 
rising  like  a  grove  of  quiet  poplars  on  its  crest,  the 
whole  as  colourless  as  if  the  sun  had  never  shone 
there,  as  silent  as  if  no  voice  of  man  had  ever  dis- 
turbed the  echoes  of  the  solemn  scene.  Overhead, 
the  sky  is  all  one  breathless  canopy  of  lucid  crystal 
blue — here  and  there  a  small  bright  star  twinkling  in 
the  depth  of  aether,  and  full  in  the  midst  the  moon 
walking  in  her  vestal  glory,  pursuing,  as  from  the 
bosom  of  eternity,  her  calm  and  destined  way,  and 
pouring  down  the  silver  of  her  smiles  upon  all  of 
lovely  and  sublime  that  Nature  and  art  could  heap 
together,  to  do  homage  to  her  radiance. 

J.    G.   LOCKHART. 


EDINBURGH  CASTLE 

THE  Castle  rock  of  Edinburgh  is,  as  far  as  I  know, 
simply  the  noblest  in  Scotland,  conveniently  ap- 
proachable by  any  creatures  but  sea-gulls  or  peewits. 
Ailsa  and  the  Bass  are  of  course  more  wonderful ; 
and,  I  suppose,  in  the  West  Highlands  there  are 
masses  of  crag  more  wild  and  fantastic  ;  but  people 
only  go  to  see  these  once  or  twice  in  their  lives, 
while  the  Castle  rock  has  a  daily  influence  in  forming 
the  taste,  or  kindling  the  imagination,  of  every 
promising  youth  in  Edinburgh.  Even  irrespectively 
of  its  position,  it  is  a  mass  of  singular  importance 
among  the  rocks  of  Scotland.  It  is  not  easy  to  find 
among  your  mountains  a  '  craig '  of  so  definite  a 
form,  and  on  so  magnificent  a  scale.  Among  the 
central  hills  of  Scotland,  from  Ben  Wyvis  to  the 
Lammermuirs,  I  know  of  none  comparable  to  it ; 


302          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

while,  besides  being  bold  and  vast,  its  bars  of  basalt 
are  so  nobly  arranged,  and  form  a  series  of  curves  at 
once  so  majestic  and  harmonious,  from  the  turf  at 
their  base  to  the  roots  of  the  bastions,  that,  as  long 
as  your  artists  have  that  crag  to  study,  I  do  not  see 
that  they  need  casts  -from  Michael  Angelo,  or  any 
one  else,  to  teach  them  the  laws  of  composition  or 
the  sources  of  sublimity. 

But  if  you  once  cut  into  the  brow  of  it,  all  is  over. 
Disturb,  in  any  single  point,  the  simple  lines  in  which 
the  walls  now  advance  and  recede  upon  the  tufted 
grass  of  its  summit,  and  you  may  as  well  make  a 
quarry  of  it  at  once,  and  blast  away  rock,  Castle, 
and  all.  It  admits  of  some  question  whether  the 
changes  made  in  the  architecture  of  your  city  of  late 
years  are  in  every  case  improvements  ;  but  very 
certainly  you  cannot  improve  the  architecture  of 
your  volcanic  crags  by  any  explosive  retouches.  .  .  . 
You  may  restore  Trinity  Chapel,  or  repudiate  its 
restoration,  at  your  pleasure,  but  there  will  be  no 
need  to  repudiate  restoration  of  the  Castle  rock.  You 
cannot  re-face  nor  re-rivet  that,  nor  order  another  in 
a  '  similar  style.'  It  is  a  dangerous  kind  of  engrav- 
ing which  you  practise  on  so  large  a  jewel.  .  .  . 

Nothing  can  be  more  noble  or  interesting  than  the 
true  thirteenth  or  fourteenth  century  castle,  when 
built  in  a  difficult  position,  its  builder  taking  ad- 
vantage of  every  inch  of  ground  to  gain  more  room, 
and  of  every  irregularity  of  surface  for  purposes  of 
outlook  and  defence  ;  so  that  the  castle  sate  its  rock 
as  a  strong  rider  sits  his  horse, — fitting  its  limbs  to 
every  width  of  the  flint  beneath  it ;  and  fringing  the 
mountain  promontory  far  into  the  sky  with  the  wild 
crests  of  its  fantastic  battlements.  Of  such  castles 


CASTLE  AND  PALACE  303 

we  can  see  no  more  ;  and  it  is  just  because  I  know 
them  well  and  love  them  deeply  that  I  say  so.  I 
know  that  their  power  and  dignity  consists,  just  as  a 
soldier's  consists,  in  their  knowing  and  doing  their 
work  thoroughly  ;  in  their  being  advanced  on  edge 
or  lifted  on  peak  of  crag,  not  for  show  nor  pride,  but 
for  due  guard  and  outlook  ;  and  that  all  their  beautiful 
irregularities  and  apparent  caprices  of  form  are  in 
reality  their  fulfilments  of  need,  made  beautiful  by 
their  compelled  association  with  the  wild  strength 
and  grace  of  the  natural  rock.  .  .  .  The  grandeur  of 
Edinburgh  Castle  depends  eminently  on  the  great, 
unbroken,  yet  beautifully  varied  parabolic  curve  in 
which  it  descends  from  the  Round  Tower  on  the 
Castle  Hill  to  the  terminating  piece  of  independent 
precipice  on  the  north.  It  is  the  last  grand  feature  of 
Edinburgh  left  us  yet  uninjured. 

JOHN   RUSKIN. 


EDINBURGH  CASTLE:  THE  BIRTH  OF  JAMES  I. 

THE  Castle  seemed  a  hive  of  rock-bees.  Afar  off,  it 
was  said,  you  could  hear  them  humming  within  ;  on 
sudden  alarms  out  they  came  in  a  swarm,  and  ill  fared 
physician  or  priest,  or  discreet,  wide-eared  gentleman 
sent  by  his  wife  to  get  a  piece  of  news.  June  was  in 
and  well  in,  skies  were  clean,  the  twilight  long  in 
coming  and  loth  to  go.  Queen  Mary  lay  idle  by  her 
window,  and  watched  the  red  roofs  turn  purple,  the 
hills  grow  black,  the  paling  of  the  light  from  yellow 
to  green,  the  night's  solemn  gathering-in,  the  star  shine 
clear  in  a  dark-blue  bed  out  there  over  Arthur's  Seat. 
.  .  .  She  bade  fair  to  be  weary  of  matron  and  maid 


304          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

alike,  with  their  everlasting  talk  of  '  the  promise  of 
Scotland.'  .  .  . 

In  the  drowsy  days  of  mid- June  the  Queen  suffered 
and  bare  a  son.  First  to  know  it  outside  the  Castle- 
hive  was  brisk  Sir  James  Melvill,  who  had  it  from 
Mary  Beaton  before  they  fired  the  guns  on  the 
platform  ;  and  that  same  night,  by  the  soaring  light 
of  the  bonfires,  rode  out  of  Lothian  to  carry  the  great 
news  into  England.  .  .  .  The  King  [Darnley]  was 
lodged  in  the  Castle  by  now  ;  and  one  good  reason 
for  Huntly's  vigil  may  have  been  that  his  Majesty 
and  his  people  had  swamped  the  house-room.  The 
Earls  of  Moray,  Argyll  and  Mar  were  there  ;  Atholl 
also  and  Crawfurd  (to  name  no  more).  ...  At  the 
end  of  her  four  days'  grace  the  Queen  sent  for  her 
brothers  first  among  men — the  three  black  Stuarts, 
James,  John,  and  Robert ;  and  two  of  them  obeyed 
her.  .  .  .  She  spoke  faintly,  in  the  voice  of  a  woman 
too  tired  to  be  disheartened.  '  You  shall  see  your 
Prince,  my  lords.  Fetch  me  in  the  Prince.' 

The  child  was  brought  in  upon  a  cushion,  a  mouth- 
ing, pushing,  red  epitome  of  our  pretensions,  with  a 
blind,  pitiful  face.  Lady  Mar  and  Lady  Reres  held 
it  between  them,  passed  it  elaborately  under  the 
review  of  the  lords  ;  and  as  these  looked  upon  it  in 
the  way  men  use,  as  if  timid  to  admit  relationship 
with  a  thing  so  absurd — here  is  a  James  Stuart  to  be 
taken,  and  that  other  left ! — the  Queen  watched 
them  with  bitter  relish,  turned  to  be  a  cynic  now,  for 
the  emptiness  of  disenchantment  was  upon  her. 

MAURICE    HEWLETT. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND 


30 


The  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  !  .  .  .  The  closes  and  wynds 
of  that  picturesque  place  I 

CHARLES    DICKENS. 

Who  could  ever  hope  to  tell  all  its  story,  or  the  story  of  a 
single  wynd  in  it  ? 

J.    M.    BARRIE. 

Never  did  he  [Sir  Walter  Scott]  seem  to  enjoy  himself  more 
fully  than  when  placidly  surveying,  at  such  sunset  or  moon- 
light hours,  either  the  massive  outlines  of  his  '  own  romantic 
town,1  or  the  tranquil  expanse  of  its  noble  estuary.  He  de- 
lighted, too,  in  passing,  when  he  could,  through  some  of  the 
quaint  windings  of  the  ancient  city  itself. 

J.    G.    LOCKHART. 

What  recollections  rush  upon  my  mind, 

Of  Lady  Stairs's  Close  and  Blackfriars  Wynd  ; 

There  lived  our  Nobles  and  here  Judges  dwelt ! 

SIR    ALEXANDER    BOSWELL. 


AN  ANTIQUE  WORLD 

FROM  a  historical  and  picturesque  point  of  view  the 
Old  Town  is  the  most  interesting  point  of  Edinburgh  ; 
and  the  great  street  running  from  Holyrood  to  the 
Castle — in  various  portions  of  its  length  called  the 
Lawnmarket,  the  High  Street,  and  the  Canongate — is 
the  most  interesting  part  of  the  Old  Town.  In  that 
street  the  houses  preserve  their  ancient  appearance  ; 
they  climb  up  heavenward,  story  upon  story,  with 
outside  stairs  and  wooden  panellings,  all  strangely 
peaked  and  gabled.  .  .  .  Everything  in  this  long 
street  breathes  of  the  antique  world.  If  you  pene- 
trate the  narrow  wynds  that  run  at  right  angles  from 
it,  you  see  traces  of  ancient  gardens.  Occasionally 
the  original  names  are  retained,  and  they  touch  the 
visitor  patheticaDy,  like  the  scent  of  long-withered 
flowers.  Old  armorial  bearings  may  yet  be  traced 
above  the  doorways.  Two  centuries  [and  a  half]  ago 
fair  eyes  looked  down  from  yonder  window.  ...  If 
we  but  knew  it,  every  crazy  tenement  has  its  tragic 
story  ;  every  crumbling  wall  could  its  tale  unfold. 
The  Canongate  is  Scottish  history  fossilized.  What 
ghosts  of  kings  and  queens  walk  there  !  What  strifes 
of  steel-clad  nobles  !  What  wretches  borne  along, 
in  the  sight  of  peopled  windows,  to  the  grim  embrace 
of  the  '  maiden  '!  What  hurrying  of  burgesses  to 
man  the  city  walls  at  the  approach  of  the  Southron  ! 
What  lamentations  over  disastrous  battle  days ! 
James  rode  up  this  street  on  his  way  to  Flodden. 
307  20 — 2 


308          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Montrose  was  dragged  up  hither  on  a  hurdle,  and 
smote,  with  disdainful  glance,  his  foes  gathered 
together  on  the  balcony.  Jenny  Geddes  flung  her 
stool  at  the  priest  in  the  church  yonder.  John  Knox 
came  up  here  to  his  house  after  his  interview  with 
Mary  at  Holyrood — grim  and  stern,  and  unmelted 
by  the  tears  of  a  queen.  In  later  days  the  Pretender 
rode  down  the  Canongate,  his  eyes  dazzled  by  the 
glitter  of  his  father's  crown,  while  bagpipes  skirled 
around,  and  Jacobite  ladies,  with  white  knots  in 
their  bosoms,  looked  down  from  lofty  windows,  ad- 
miring the  beauty  of  the  '  Young  Ascanius  '  and  his 
long  yellow  hair.  Down  here  of  an  evening  rode 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Boswell,  and  turned  in  to  the  White 
Horse.  David  Hume  had  his  dwelling  in  this  street, 
and  trod  its  pavements,  much  meditating  the  wars  of 
the  Roses  and  the  Parliament,  and  the  fates  of  English 
sovereigns.  One  day  a  burly  ploughman  from  Ayr- 
shire, with  swarthy  features  and  wonderful  black 
eyes,  came  down  here,  and  turned  into  yonder  church- 
yard to  stand,  with  cloudy  lids  and  forehead  rever- 
ently bared,  beside  the  grave  of  poor  Fergusson. 
Down  the  street,  too ,  often  limped  2.  little  boy,  Walter 
Scott  by  name,  destined  in  after  years  to  write  its 
Chronicles.  The  Canongate  once  seen  is  never  to  be 
forgotten.  The  visitor  starts  a  ghost  at  every  step. 
Nobles,  grave  senators,  jovial  lawyers,  had  once  their 
abodes  here.  In  the  old,  low-roofed  rooms,  half- 
way to  the  stars,  philosophers  talked,  wits  coruscated, 
and  gallant  young  fellows,  sowing  wild  oats  in  the 
middle  of  last  century,  wore  rapiers  and  lace  ruffles, 
and  drank  claret  jovially  out  of  silver  stoups.  In 
every  room  a  minuet  has  been  walked,  while  chair- 
men and  linkmen  clustered  on  the  pavement  beneath. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  309 

But  the  Canongate  has  fallen  from  its  high  estate. 
Quite  another  race  of  people  are  its  present  in- 
habitants. 

ALEXANDER   SMITH. 


ADDRESSED  TO  THE  OLD  TOWN 

HAIL,  Edinburgh  !  thou  famous  city, 
To  ca'  thee  less  wad  be  a  pity  ; 
For  in  low  terms  I  daurna  greet  ye, 

Nor  am  I  wanting  : 
Tho'  gaping  cuifs  ca'  thee  Auld  Reekie, 

By  way  o'  taunting. 

Thae  vera  fools  wha  use  thee  ill, 

When  they're  compell'd  to  tak'  farewell, 

Wi'  heavy  hearts,  ah  me  !  to  tell, 

They  shed  a  tear, 
To  lea'e  thy  guid  bairns,  an'  thy  sell, 

Wham  they  haud  dear. 

Wi'  pride  thy  provost  in  thee  reigns, 
An'  thy  wise  laws  he  weel  maintains  ; 
For  justice  by  him  aye  has  been 

Reliev'd  frae  clamour  : 
The  baillies  hear  ilk  wrang'd  ane's  name 

I'  the  council  chamber. 

Here  naething  thrives  sae  weel's  the  law, 

For  lawyers  now  are  unco  braw  ; 

Ye  fee  them  weel,  which  gars  them  craw, 

An'  look  sae  big, 
In  their  lang  goun,  as  black's  a  daw, 

Wi'  powder'd  wig  ! 


3io          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

From  you,  Edina,  rises  men, 

For  sword,  an'  word,  an'  'genious  pen  ! 

Wi'  meikle  pride  aft  them  ye  sen', 

Baith  here,  an'  there  ; 
On  sea,  an'  land,  to  mak'  a  fen', 

They  never  fear. 

Thy  sons  aye  show  their  tender  nature, 

In  humanity  to  ilka  creature  ; 

To  thae  wha  guid  or  bad,  nae  matter, 

Where'er's  their  hame  ; 
Real  friendship  marks  their  greatest  feature, 

To  kin,  an'  frem'. 

The  far  fam'd  College,  our  great  pride, 
It's  sair  worn  wa's  we  couldna  'bide, 
But  raised  a  new  ane,  high*  an'  wide, 

On  its  auld  stance  : 
It  was  to  grandeur  a  far  stride, 

Beyond  our  glance  ! 

O'  banking  houses  we  ha'e  na  few, 
Wha  help  our  trade  right  weel,  I  trow  ; 
Some  o'  them's  auld,  but  ane  is  new, 

On  Nor'  Loch  side, 
Which  far  excels  them  in  the  view, 

Like  a  fair  bride  ! 

Our  public  offices  are  stately, 

Their  wa's  are  polish'd,  an'  carved  neatly  ; 

But  th'  Register  dings  them  completely 

It  is  our  boast  : 
For  'twas  erected  vera  lately, 

Wi'  taste,  an'  cost. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  311 

There's  steeples  glittering  in  the  sky, 
An'  mony  buildings  towering  high  ; 
Twal'  stories  aften  we  descry, 

A  dreadfu'  sight  ! 
Some  strangers  say,  when  them  they're  nigh, 

They  shake  wi'  fright. 

Our  fine  auld  Scots  tunes  ilka  day, 
On  Giles's  bells  we  sweetly  play  ! 
For  a'  wha  hear  them,  croon  ilk  lay 

Unto  themsel ; 
Tho'  they  were  grave,  'twould  mak'  them  gay, 

An'  care  dispel. 

The  hill  on  which  Edina's  plac'd, 
A  gentle  rise  takes  in  the  east ; 
An'  falls  abruptly  to  the  west, 

A  rugged  rock, 
Whereon  the  Castle  cocks  its  crest, 

Our  foes  to  mock. 

Still's  fu'  the  Palace  to  this  date, 

0'  ancient  furniture  o'  state, 

The  sculptur'd  wa'  are  yet  complete, 

An'  looks  fu'  grand  ! 
On  a  sweet  plain,  near  Arthur's  Seat, 

They  fair  do  stand. 

O  what  a  pleasure's  to  our  een, 
Fam'd  Arthur's  hill  for  ever  green, 
Its  towering  height  frae  far  is  seen, 

For  't  stands  alane, 
On  its  top  many  aft  have  been 

To  view  the  plain. 


312          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Our  braw  New  Town's  sae  large,  an'  fine, 
That  ilka  place  it  does  outshine, 
Where  Nature's  beauties  a'  combine  : 

Look  to  the  north  ! 
An  view  our  noble  river  win', 

The  flowin'  Forth. 

Fair  Pentland  Hills  wi'  water  sweet, 

Supplies  profusely  ilka  street ; 

An'  there  are  lights  to  guide  our  feet 

I'  the  right  road, 
Sud  drouthy  neebors  keep  us  late 

Frae  our  abode. 

Now  just  before  I  drap  my  quill, 

I  maun  sing  th'  far  fam'd  Calton  Hill ; 

The  views  from  which,  I've  heard  those  tell 

Wha  'broad  had  been, 
That  ilka  place  they  far  excel 

They  e'er  had  seen. 

Edina,  ye're  gaun  down  the  Walk 

To  guid  friend  Leith,  her  hands  to  shak' 

An'  about  trade  to  ha'e  a  crack, 

An'  view  the  Pier  ; 
When  finished,  it  will  you  up  wak', 

Ye  needna  fear. 

Before  the  constant  driving  gale, 
A'  sorts  o'  ships  to  you  will  sail, 
An'  bring  you  o'  a'  wares  the  wale, 

For  gold,  or  barter  : 
Sin'  your  wet -docks  will  never  fail 

To  yield  safe  quarter. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  313 

Your  liberal  sons  their  gowd  ne'er  spare, 
To  mak'  ye  usefu',  neat,  an'  fair  ; 
In  trade,  an'  ilka  art  that's  rare, 

Ye  bear  the  bell : 
An'  those  wha  see  you  loud  declare, 

Ye  a'  excel. 

ANON.  (1805). 


•  A  THERSITES  OF  '  THE  PLEASANCE  ' 

CLEG  KELLY  was  out  of  his  latitude,  and  knew  it.  He 
was  a  Pleasance  laddie,  and  he  lived  in  one  of  the 
garret  rooms  of  a  big  '  land,'  as  full  of  passages  and 
bye-ways  as  a  rabbit  warren.  He  was  not  a  Chris- 
tian, was  Cleg  Kelly.  Neither  was  his  father.  He 
said  he  was  a  '  snow-shoveller,'  and  as  his  profession 
could  be  carried  on  during  a  very  limited  number  of 
days  in  the  year,  he  made  his  fellow-citizens  charge- 
able for  his  keep  during  the  rest  of  the  year,  and 
personally  collected  the  needful.  So  his  fellow- 
citizens  thoughtfully  provided  for  his  accommodation 
a  splendid  edifice  on  the  side  of  the  Calton — the 
same  which  American  tourists  wax  enthusiastic 
about  as  they  come  into  the  Scots  metropolis  by  the 
North  British  Railway,  mistaking  its  battlemented 
towers  for  those  of  Edinburgh  Castle.  .  .  .  Cleg 
Kelly  was  out  of  his  latitude,  and  he  did  not  like 
it.  It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  he  had  been  across 
the  narrow  isthmus  of  houses  which  separates  the 
Alps  of  the  Salisbury  Crags  from  the  Lombard  plain 
of  the  Meadows.  He  had  been  putting  in  his  atten- 
dances at  five  Sunday  Schools  that  day,  for  it  was  the 
leafy  month  of  June  when  '  trips  '  abound,  and  Cleg 
Kelly  was  not  quite  so  green  as  the  summer  foliage ; 


314          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

besides  all  which,  about  five  o'clock  there  are  lots 
of  nice  clean  children  in  that  part  of  the  town  on 
their  way  home  from  '  Congregational '  Sabbath- 
schools.  These  did  not  speak  to  Cleg,  for  he  only 
went  to  the  Mission  schools  which  were  especially 
adapted  for  such  as  he.  Also,  he  wore  no  stockings. 
But  Cleg  Kelly  was  not  bashful,  so  he  readily  spoke 
to  them.  He  noted,  especially,  a  spruce  party  of 
three  leaving  a  chemist's  shop  on  the  shortest  track 
between  the  park  and  the  Meadows,  and  he  followed 
them  down  through  the  narrow  defile  of  Gifford 
Park — thoughts  of  petty  larceny  crystallizing  in 
his  heart.  Ere  they  could  escape  through  the 
needle's  eye  at  the  further  end,  Cleg  Kelly  had 
accosted  them  after  his  kind. 

'  Hey,  you,  gie's  that  gundy,  or  I'll  knock  your 
turnip  heids  thegither  !'  The  three  lambs  stood  at 
bay,  huddled  close  together,  and  helplessly  bleated 
feeble  derisives  at  the  wolf  who  had  headed  them  off 
from  safety  ;  but  their  polite  and  Englishy  tone  was 
a  source  of  Homeric  laughter  to  this  Thersites  of  the 
Pleasance.  He  mocked  their  decent  burgher  attire  ; 
he  sparred  up  to  them — his  '  neives  '  describing 
stately  circles  like  a  paddle  wheel — and,  shaking  a 
murky  fist  an  inch  below  their  several  noses,  he 
invited  them  individually  to  '  smell  that,'  and  then 
inform  him  where  they  would  like  it  applied — 
together  with  other  resourceful  amenities,  as  the 
auctioneer's  advertisements  say,  too  numerous  to 
mention.  While  the  marauding  wolf  was  thus  at 
play  with  his  innocent  victims,  scorning  their  feeble 
efforts  at  rejoinder,  and  circumventing  without 
difficulty  their  yet  feebler  efforts  at  flight,  it  so  hap- 
pened that  a  member  of  the  city  force,  to  whom 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  315 

Master  Cleg  Kelly  was  well  known,  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  look  down  the  aristocratic  avenues  of  the 
park,  bordered  with  frugal  lines  of  '  ash  backets  ' 
for  all  ornament.  The  coincidence  of  necessity  and 
presence  is  remarkable,  but  not  unprecedented.  He 
was  a  young  officer  of  but  eighteen  months'  standing, 
and  his  district  had  been  previously  in  the  '  Sooth 
Back,'  a  district  to  which  the  talent  of  Master  Kelly 
was  indigenous.  Had  the  officer  been  six  months 
more  in  the  service,  he  would  probably  have  con- 
tented himself  with  a  warning  trumpet  note  which 
would  have  sent  the  enemy  flying ;  but  being  young 
and  desirous  of  small  distinctions,  he  determined  to 
'  nab  the  young  scamp  and  take  him  along.'  He  had 
full  justification  for  this,  for  at  this  moment  a  howl 
told  that  the  assault  had  reached  the  stage  of  battery, 
and  that  the  young  '  gundy '  garrotter  was  qualify- 
ing for  the  cat  at  an  early  age,  by  committing  robbery 
with  violence. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Cleg  felt  that  there's 
no  place  like  home.  He  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land,  where  he  knew  not  even  the  walls  that  had 
nicks  in  them,  climbable  by  the  sooty  toe  of  an 
eleven-year-old  city  boy.  He  could  not  tell  whether 
any  particular  '  land  '  had  a  ladder  and  trap-door — 
valuable  right-of-way  upon  the  roof.  He  knew  not 
the  alleys  which  gave  double  exit  by  unexpected 
elbows,  and  he  could  not  shun  those  which  invited 
fair  promises,  but  which  were  really  traps  with  no 
way  of  escape.  He  did  not  wish,  in  that  awful  mo- 
ment, that  he  had  been  a  better  boy,  as  his  young 
Sunday-school  teacher  in  Hunker  Court  had  often 
urged  him  to  become  ;  what  he  wanted  was  the 
'  Sooth  Back,'  ten  yards  start,  and  the  rigour  of 


316          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

the  game.  But  there  was  no  time  for  meditation, 
for  the  heavy-footed  but  alert  young  '  bobby '  was 
almost  upon  him.  Cleg  Kelly  sprang  sideways  and 
dived  into  the  first  convenient  entry.  Then  he 
skimmed  up  some  steps  that  wound  skyward,  down 
again,  and  along  a  passage  with  not  a  single  side 
turning.  He  heard  his  pursuer  lumbering  after  him, 
and  his  own  heart  kettle-drumming  in  his  ears.  An 
unexpected  doorway  gave  outward  as  his  weight 
came  on  it,  and  he  found  himself  in  a  curious  court 
somewhere  at  the  back  of  Simon  Square,  as  near  as 
he  could  make  out.  There  was  a  strange  square 
block  towards  one  side  of  the  open  space,  round 
which  he  ran  ;  and,  climbing  up  a  convenient  zone 
of  water  pipe,  he  squirmed  himself  through  a  stair 
window,  crossed  the  landing  of  an  uninhabited  house, 
and  looked  down  on  the  interior  of  a  court  which 
was  well  known  to  him,  from  the  safe  elevation  of  a 
first-floor  window.  As  he  rested,  panting,  he  said  to 
himself  that  he  '  kenned  where  he  was  noo.' 

S.    R.    CROCKETT. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  ST.  MARY'S  WYND 


OF  Scotland's  cities,  still  the  rarest 

Is  ancient  Edinburgh  town  ; 
And  of  her  ladies,  still  the  fairest 

There  you  see  walk  up  and  down  ; 
Be  they  gay,  or  be  they  gayless, 

There  they  beck  and  there  they  bow, 
From  the  Castle  to  the  Palace, 

In  farthingale  and  furbelow. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  317 

Says  Lady  Jane  to  Lady  Janet, 

'  Thy  gown,  I  vow,  is  stiff  and  grand  ; 
Though  there  were  feint  a  body  in  it, 

Still  I  trow  that  it  would  stand.' 
And  Lady  Janet  makes  rejoinder  : 

'  Thy  boddice,  madam,  is  sae  tend, 
The  bonny  back  may  crack  asunder, 

But,  by  my  faith,  it  winna  bend.' 

But  few  knew  one  both  fairer,  kinder, 

The  fair  maid  of  St.  Mary's  Wynd  ; 
Among  the  great  you  will  not  find  her, 

For  she  was  of  the  humbler  kind. 
For  her  minnie,  spinning,  plodding, 

She  wore  no  ribbons  to  her  shune, 
No  mob-cap  on  her  head  nid-nodding, 

But  aye  the  linsey-woolsey  gown. 

No  Lady  Jane  in  silks  and  laces, 

How  fair  soever  she  might  be, 
Could  match  the  face,  the  nature's  graces 

Of  this  poor,  humble  Marjory  : 
Her  eyes  they  were  baith  mirk  and  merry, 

Her  lire  was  as  the  lily  fair, 
Her  lips  were  redder  than  the  cherry, 

And  flaxen  was  her  glossy  hair. 

Ye  bucks  who  wear  the  coats  silk-braided, 

With  satin  ribbon  at  your  knee, 
And  cambric  ruffles  starched  and  plaited, 

With  cocked  bonnets  all  ajee, 
Who  walk  with  mounted  canes  at  even, 

Up  and  down  so  jauntilie, 
Ye  would  have  given  a  blink  of  heaven 

For  one  sweet  smile  from  Marjory. 


318          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

But  Marjory's  care  was  aye  her  minnie, 

And  day  by  day  she  sat  and  span  ; 
Nor  did  she  think  it  ought  but  sin  aye, 

To  bear  the  stare  of  gentleman  : 
She  doated  on  her  own  dear  Willie, 

For  dear  to  her  fond  heart  was  he, 
Who,  though  his  sire  was  poor,  yet  still  he 

Was  far  above  the  low  degree. 

It  was  aye  said  his  father's  father 

Did  claim  some  Spanish  pedigree, 
Which  many  well  believed,  the  rather 

That  he  was  not  of  our  countrie  : 
His  skin  was  brown  as  nut  of  hazel, 

His  eye  was  black  as  Scottish  sloe, 
And  all  so  bright  that  it  would  dazzle 

The  eye  that  looked  that  eye  into. 

There  came  into  his  head  a  notion, 

Which  wrough  and  wrough  within  his  brain, 
That  he  would  cross  th'  Atlantic  Ocean, 

And  seek  the  land  of  Spanish  Main  ; 
And  there  amass  a  routh  of  treasure, 

And  then  come  back  with  bosom  leal 
To  his  own  Marjory,  and  release  her 

From  rock  and  reel  and  spinning-wheel. 

Up  spake  the  minnie — it  did  not  please  her 

That  he  should  '  gae  sae  far  fra  hame  '; 
'  Thoul't  reap  less  in  yon  Abiezer 

Than  thou  wilt  glean  in  this  Ephraim  ; 
For  there's  a  proverb  faileth  never  : 

A  lintie  safe  within  the  hand, 
Though  lean  and  lank,  is  better  ever 

Than  is  a  fat  finch  on  the  wand.' 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  319 

Then  Marjory,  with  eye  so  tearful, 

Whispered  in  dark  Willie's  ear, 
'  Thou  wilt  not  go  and  leave  me  careful, 

Friendless,  lonely,  starving  here  ; 
My  minnie  God  hath  gien  a  warning, 

And  I  can  do  nae  mair  spin, 
And  slowly,  slowly  comes  the  earning 

That  with  my  wheel  I  daily  win.' 

'  Oh,  fear  not,  Marjory  dear — content  ye, 

Blackfriar  John  hath  to  me  sworn, 
That  man  of  God  will  kindly  tent  ye 

Until  I  again  return  ; 
And  he  has  promised  fair  to  write  me 

Of  how  ye  live  and  prosper  twain, 
And  I  will  faithfully  requite  ye 

With  my  true  love  to  you  again.' 

ii 

Dark  Willie  took  his  sad  departure, 

And  left  at  home  his  Marjory  dear 
To  doubt  and  fear  from  every  quarter, 

Weep — weeping  sadly  on  the  pier  ; 
And  o'er  the  sea,  all  dangers  scorning, 

And  o'er  the  sea  he  boldly  sailed, 
Until  upon  the  fortieth  morning 

The  promised  land  at  last  he  hailed. 

Now  !  thou  one  of  the  fateful  sisters 
That  spins  for  man  the  silver  thread, 

Spin  one  of  gold  that  glints  and  glisters 
For  one  who  stands  in  meikle  need  ; 

Spin  it  quick  and  spin  it  finely, 
Till  Willie's  golden  fortune's  made, 


320          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

And  send  him  back  to  Marjory  kindly, 
Who  spins  at  home  for  daily  bread. 

There  was  a  rich  old  Spanish  senor, 

Who  bore  dark  Willie's  Spanish  name, 
And  came  to  feel  the  kindly  tenor 

Of  plighted  friendship's  sacred  claim  ; 
He  gave  his  right  hand  to  dark  Willie, 

With  shares  of  a  great  companie, 
Which  sent  forth  goods  far  o'er  the  billow, 

In  ships  that  sailed  on  every  sea. 

Don  Pedro  had  an  only  daughter, 

The  Donna  Clara,  passing  fair, 
Who,  when  her  sire  took  his  departure, 

Would  be  her  father's  only  heir  : 
Her  eyes,  so  like  two  sterns  of  even, 

Shining  the  murky  clouds  among, 
And  black  her  ringlets  as  the  raven, 

That  o'er  her  marble  shoulders  hung. 

Oh,  Willie  !  Willie  !  have  thou  care,  man  ! 

And  give  unto  thine  heart  a  stay, 
For  there  are  witcheries  working  there,  man, 

May  steal  that  heart  of  thine  away. 
No  need  !  to  him  blue  eyes  are  glowing, 

To  him  most  beautiful  of  all, 
No  need  !  for  flaxen  hair  is  flowing 

To  keep  his  loving  heart  in  thrall. 

in 

A  year  had  passed,  and  he  had  written 
Of  loving  letters  more  than  one, 

The  while  gold  pieces  still  remitting 
All  to  holy  Blackfriar  John  ; 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  321 

Yet  still  no  answer  had  he  gotten  ; 

And  as  the  days  still  passed  away, 
He  fell  to  musing,  and  deep  thought  on 

What  had  caused  the  strange  delay.  .  .  . 

But  time  would  tell  :  there  came  a  letter 

That  filled  his  soul  with  dire  dismay, 
And  told  him  his  dark  fears'  abettor, 

His  Marjory's  health  had  flown  away  : 
Even  as  the  clay  her  cheek  was  paling, 

Her  azure  eyes  were  waxing  dim, 
Her  hair  unkempt,  and  loose,  and  trailing, 

And  all  for  hopeless  love  of  him. 

Sad  harbinger  of  things  to  harrow, 

Another  came,  ah  !  soon  a  day, 
To  tell  him  his  dear  winsome  marrow 

From  this  sad  world  had  passed  away. 
No  more  for  him  those  eyes  so  merry, 

That  were  to  him  so  sweet  to  see  ! 
No  more  those  lips  red  as  the  cherry, 

That  were  to  him  so  sweet  to  pree  ! 

IV 

Alas  !  there  are  of  things — we  see  them 

Without  the  aid  of  wizard's  spell ; 
But  there  are  other  things — we  dree  them, 

No  art  of  wizard  can  foretell : 
Strange  thing  the  heart  where  love  and  power, 

So  tossed  with  joy  or  racked  with  pain  ! 
Dark  Willie  from  that  fatal  hour 

Seemed  fated  ne'er  to  smile  again. 

In  vain  now  Clara's  sembling  gladness, 
Plies  the  magic  of  her  wile, 

21 


322          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

To  draw  him  off  from  his  great  sadness, 
And  cheat  him  of  a  loving  smile  : 

The  more  her  sympathy  she  tenders, 
The  more  he  will  by  art  defy 

All  beauty  which  but  contrast  renders 
With  his  own  dear  lost  Marjory. 


Now  Time's  big  silent,  solemn  billow 

Rolls  quietly  on  from  year  to  year  ; 
Don  Pedro  lies  on  his  green  pillow, 

With  love-lorn  Clara  sleeping  near. 
But,  ere  he  died,  he  did  declare  it 

His  pleasures  when  his  days  were  told, 
And  Clara  dead,  with  none  to  share  it, 

Don  William  should  heir  all  his  gold. 

Gift  vain,  oh  vain  !  would  wealth  restore  him 

His  long-lost  Marjory  to  his  arms  ? 
Nay,  would  it  wake  and  bring  before  him 

One  only  of  her  envied  charms  ? 
No,  it  might  cause  another  courtship, 

A  love  he  could  not  now  control  : 
Great  Mammon  lured  him  to  his  worship, 

And  lorded  in  his  inmost  soul. 

What  though  ten  years  away  had  stolen  ? 

'Twas  not  to  him  all  weary  time, 
Who  every  day  was  pleased  to  roll  in 

The  tempting  Mammon's  golden  shrine. 
But  when  he  laid  him  on  his  pillow, 

His  fancy  sought  the  farthest  east, 
And  conjured  up  some  lonely  willow 

That  waved  o'er  her  he  loved  the  best. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  323 

Change  still — a  passion  changed  to  pity  ! 

No  other  solace  would  he  have — 
A  wish  to  see  his  native  city, 

And  sit  and  weep  o'er  Marjory's  grave. 
To  see  that  house,  yea,  buy  the  sheiling 

In  that  old  wynd  of  St.  Marie, 
A  hermit  there  to  live  and  dwell  in, 

Then  sleep  beside  his  Marjory. 


VI 

Blow  soft,  ye  winds,  and  tender-hearted 

This  hermit  waft  to  yonder  shore, 
From  which  for  sordid  gold  he  parted 

Ten  weary  years  and  one  before. 
Ho  !  there's  the  pier  where  last  he  left  her, 

That  dear,  loved  one,  to  weep  alone, 
And  for  that  love  of  gold  bereft  her 

Of  all  the  pleasures  she  could  own. 

He's  now  within  the  ancient  borough  ! 

He  sought  the  well-known  White  Horse  Inn, 
And  there  he  laid  him  down  in  sorrow, 

Some  strengthening  confidence  to  win  ; 
Then  up  the  street,  with  none  to  greet  him, 

He  held  his  sad  and  sorrowing  way, 
When  lo  !  who  should  there  be  to  meet  him 

But  Friar  John  ? — who  slunk  away. 

Strange  thing  !  but  lo  !  the  sacred  sheiling 

In  that  old  wynd  of  St.  Marie — 
The  window  where  with  mirthful  feeling 

He  tap't  the  sign  to  Marjory. 
He  sought  the  lobby  dark  and  narrow, 

Groped  gently  for  the  well-known  door, 

21 — 2 


324          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Where  he  might  hear  of  his  winsome  marrow, 
Who  died  there  many  years  before. 

He  drew  the  latch,  and  quietly  entered  : 

There  someone  spinning  merrilie  ! 
A  faltering  question  then  he  ventured  : 

'  My  name,  kind  sir,  is  Marjory.' 
'  Great  God  !'  he  cried,  in  voice  all  trembling, 

And  sank  upon  a  crazy  chair, 
And  tried  to  trace  a  strange  resembling 

In  her  who  sat  beside  him  there. 

A  maiden  she  still  young  and  buxom, 

Nor  change  but  what  ten  years  may  bring, 
Her  hair  still  of  the  glossy  flaxen, 

Her  eyes  still  blue  as  halcyon's  wing. 
He  traced  the  lines,  he  knew  each  feature 

Of  all  her  still  unfaded  charms  ; 
And  now  this  long  lost,  worshipped  creature 

Is  locked  fast  in  his  loving  arms.  .  .  . 

'  'Twas  Friar  John  wrote  me  a  letter, 

He  said  he  saw  thee  on  thy  bier  ; 
And  sore  I  mourned  with  tears,  oh,  bitter  ! 

For  one  I  ever  loved  so  dear.' 
'  Oh,  wae  befa'  that  wicked  friar, 

Wha  sairly  tried  my  love  to  gain  ; 
Wae,  wae  befa'  that  wicked  liar, 

Wha  brought  on  us  sae  meikle  pain.' 

And  he  has  bought  a  noble  mansion, 
And  stocked  it  with  all  things  genteel 

Of  costly  price — nor  need  we  mention 
The  rock  and  reel  and  spinning-wheel ; 


LADY    STAIR  S    CLOSE 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  325 

And  he  has  bought  a  noble  carriage, 

With  servants  in  gay  liverie, 
I  trow  there  was  an  unco  marriage 

In  that  ancient  wynd  of  Saint  Marie. 

ALEXANDER   LEIGHTON. 


SOME  CHARACTERS  OF  RAGMAN'S  CLOSE 

RAGMAN'S  CLOSE,  North  Pleasance,  in  the  city  of 
Edinburgh,  occupied  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  un- 
reformed  situations  of  that  still  ancient  and  un- 
reformed  town.  It  was  called  by  its  present  highly 
honourable  name  owing  to  the  fact  that  formerly  it 
had  contained  the  official  residence  of  the  city  heads- 
man, the  blade  and  '  hag  clog '  of  whose  profession 
were  still  to  be  traced  over  the  low  door  of  the  tall, 
old,  grimy  '  land.' 

There  are  few  '  lands  '  like  that  in  Edinburgh  now 
— that  is,  of  the  older  sort.  Thirty  years  ago,  how- 
ever, they  were  the  rule.  And,  as  the  number  of 
those  who  know  what  an  actual  old  -  time  '  land  ' 
was,  is  growing  steadily  fewer,  I  will  try  to  sketch 
this  towering  rabbit  warren  in  a  few  sentences. 

A  cliff-like  face  of  grimy  grey  stone,  broken  by 
rows  upon  rows  of  small  windows  with  small  panes, 
many  of  them  broken,  stuffed  with  rags,  and  mended 
with  paper.  Seven  and  eight  stories  the  rule,  ten 
and  eleven  the  exception.  Four  families,  sometimes 
eight,  on  each  landing.  These  landings  lit  by  day 
through  one  narrow  arrow  slit  in  the  tower  of  the 
turnpike  stair — by  night  not  lit  at  all.  Thirty  to 
sixty  families  in  all,  exclusive  of  lodgers  and  casuals, 
lived  in  that  grimy  barrack,  all  going  to  and  fro  upon 
their  occasions  up  and  down  that  winding  staircase. 


326          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

.  .  .  Children  swarmed  under  foot  at  all  stages  of 
the  ascent,  and  it  was  a  constant  miracle  how  more 
of  them  did  not  tumble  over,  and  so  achieve  (what 
was  the  best  thing  for  them)  Nirvana  at  the  earliest 
age  possible. 

Some  did,  and  were  happy  ever  after.  The  others 
survived,  and  were  both  sorry  for  it  themselves  and 
made  others  sorry  also. 

Such  was  a  '  land  ' — the  outside  of  it,  that  is,  before 
you  entered  the  separate  dwellings  of  which  this  vast 
human  warren  was  composed. 

'  I'm  wee  Kid  McGhie — I'm  wee  Kid  McGhie ' 
(the  impersonal  voice  said), 

'  My  faither  killed  himsel' 
An'  my  mither  killed  me  !' 

Over  and  over  he  said  it,  like  the  burden  of  a  song. 
The  stroke  of  Tom  Dinwiddie's  spanner  had  somehow 
struck  out  in  that  small  brain  the  faint  semblance  of 
a  rhyme. 

'  I'm  wee  Kid  McGhie — I'm  wee  Kid  McGhie  1 
My  faihter  killed  himsel' 
An'  my  mither  killed  me  !' 

It  was  a  curious  life  for  a  country-bred  boy.  The 
Kid's  mother,  erstwhile  Mag  McGhie,  had  on  her 
arrival  in  town,  promptly  remarried  with  a  certain 
'  Knifer  '  Jackson,  who  when  required,  for  purposes 
of  law  and  order,  to  specify  his  profession,  said 
vaguely,  that  he  was  '  employed  upon  the  streets.' 

'  Knifer  '  was  not  tall,  but  very  broad.  His  arms 
swung  to  his  knees,  the  elbows  out  a  little  like  an 
ape's  trying  to  walk  erect.  The  most  prominent 
part  of  his  face  was  his  chin,  and  an  upper  lip  which 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  327 

stuck  out  like  the  ram  of  an  ironclad.  There  was 
at  most  times  a  kind  of  doubtful  smile  on  Knifer's 
face,  and  '  Don't  provoke  me  '  was  his  word — '  I 
know  my  weakness.  Don't  provoke  me  !' 

And  as  Knifer's  best-known  weakness  was  homicide 
— and  homicide,  too,  with  but  a  faint  dividing  line 
between  it  and  murder — few  people  did  care  to  pro- 
voke Knifer  Jackson.  Most  certainly,  however,  he 
had  worked  a  strange  reformation  in  Mad  Mag,  his 
new  wife,  before  she  had  kept  house  a  month  in 
Hagman's  Close.  It  was  whispered  in  Number 
Seven  Land  that  Mag  had  once  seen  the  Knifer  in 
wrath.  The  other  man  died. 

And  from  this  and  a  few  other  circumstances  had 
grown  her  respect  for  her  husband.  At  any  rate,  the 
respect  was  there,  as  well  as  a  curious  desire  to  please 
her  master.  And  as  Mad  Mag  was  well-looking  in 
a  bold,  gusty  way,  though  burnt  so  brown  that  her 
china-blue  eyes  made  holes  in  her  face,  Knifer 
Jackson  rather  liked  to  be  seen  out  of  doors  with  his 
wife  on  Sunday  afternoons.  They  went  down  the 
length  of  the  Pleasance,  disappeared  into  a  close, 
came  out  among  the  respectable  houses  in  Arthur 
Street,  and  so  downhill  into  the  Queen's  Park.  There, 
as  was  customary,  they  went  arm  in  arm. 

It  was  on  such  an  excursion,  up  among  the  gorse 
of  the  Whinny  Hill,  that  Knifer  earned  his  wife's 
admiration.  It  was  soon  after  they  were  married, 
and  Mag,  having  let  her  hair  down  so  that  the  wind 
could  blow  through  it,  was  wondering  in  her  heart  if 
she  could  wind  this  man  round  her  finger  as  she  had 
done  Davie  McGhie. 

S.    R.    CROCKETT. 


328          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

LAMENT  FOR  THE  AULD  EDINBURGH  HOSTELS 

'  OH  Edinburgh,  hich  and  triumphand  toun, 

Within  thy  bounds  rycht  merrie  haif  I  bene  !' 
Sae  Sir  David  Lyndsay,  that  she  loun, 

Wha    kenned    what    merrines   wes    rycht    well,   I 
wene  ; 

And  sae  say  I,  that  monie  a  bouse  haif  sene, 
In  quiet  houses  round  the  Cross 

(Haply  now  harbour  for  the  vyle  and  meane), 
In  the  High  Street,  or  else  in  wynd  and  close, 

Renowned  for  punche  and  aill,  and  eke  hie-relished 
soss. 

But  now,  alas  for  thee,  decayit  Dun-Edin, 

Thy  dayis  of  glory  are  depairit  quite  ; 
For  all  those  places  that  we  once  were  fed  in, 

And  where  we  decently  got  foue  o'  night, 

Those  havyns  of  douce  comforte  and  delighte, 
Are  closed,  degraded,  burnt,  or  changed,  or  gone, 

Whyle  our  old  hostesses  have  ta'en  their  flight, 
To  far-off  places,  novel  and  unknowne, 
About  whose  verie  names  we  scarcely  may  depone. 

Whair  now  is  Douglas's  ?  whair  Clerihugh's  ? 

Whair  is  John's  Coffee-house  ?  and  tell  me  whair 
Is  Mistress  P 's  ?  to  which,  when  these  old  shoes 

Were  new,  at  eight  we  used  to  make  repair  ; 

By  her  own  ladye  hand  showne  up  the  staire, 
Through  a  long  trance,  into  a  panyled  roome 

Whair  lords  had  erst  held  feist  wyth  ladies  faire, 
And  which  had  still  an  air  of  lordly  gloome, 
That    scarss    two    sturdie    mouldes    colde    utterlie 
illume. 


CLOSE  AND  WYND  329 

Oh  for  the  pen  of  Fergusson  to  painte, 

'  The  parloure  splendours  of  that  festyf  place  !' 

The  niche,  sumtyme  the  shrine  of  some  auld  sainte, 
The  ceiling  that  still  bore,  in  antique  grace, 
Many  a  holye,  chubby,  white-washt  face  ; 

The  dark-brown  landscape,  done  of  old  by  Norie, 
On  the  broad  panel  o'er  the  chimney-brace  ; 

The  blue-tiled  fire-place  gleamin'  in  its  glorye, 

Relating,   verse  for  verse,   some  moral  scripture 
storye. 

Then  on  the  wall  was  hung  that  rare  and  rych 

Memorial!  of  a  tyme  and  mode  gone  by, 
The  '  sampler,'  showing  every  kind  of  stitch 

E'er  known  or  practised  underneath  the  sky  ; 

Thread-circled  holes  denominated  '  pye,' 
Embattled  lines,  of  square-tayled  lambs  a  paire, 

Strange  cloven-footed  letters  awkwardlye 
Contriving  to  make  up  the  Lorde  hys  prayer, 
And  names  of  John  and  Jean  and  William  all  were 
thair. 

Thair,  also,  hung  around  the  wainscot  wall, 

Each  in  its  panel,  of  old  prynts  a  store  ; 
Adam  in  paradyse  before  the  Fall ; 

The  sailours  mutinying  at  the  Nore  ; 

Flora,  Pomona,  and  the  Seasons  four  ; 
Lord  Nelson's  victory  at  Trafalgar  ; 

The  death  of  Cooke  on  Otaheite's  shore  ; 
Lord  North  rigged  out  in  garter  and  in  star  ; 
With  manie  more  from  Histories  of  the  War. 

Then  thair  were  tablis  also,  squayr  and  round, 

Derke  as  the  face  of  old  antiquity, 
Yet,  when  inspected,  each  a  mirror  found, 

So  that  ilke  feature  you  full  well  could  spye  ; 


330          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  jugges  and  glasses  on  those  planes  did  lye, 
Like  summer  barques  in  glassye  seas  reflected  ; 

And  chairs  were  there,  as  vertical  and  high 
As  the  proud  race  upon  them  once  erected, 
In  each  of  whom,  'tis  said,  ane  poker  was  rejected. 

But  ah,  the  mere  externe  of  this  olde  haunte, 
Preciouse  althoughe  in  every  lineamente, 

Wes  the  leaste  worthie  subject  of  descante  ; 

The  sorrow  which  mine  anxious  muse  would  vent, 
Regards  alone  the  happy  moments,  spent 

Sae  cozilie,  within  this  humble  dome, 
In  nights  of  other  years,  jocoseness  blent 

With  courtesie,  the  decencies  of  home, 

Yet  o'er  the  realmes  of  talk  for  ever  free  to  roam. 

To  me  who  love  the  olde  with  such  regrette, 
What  charm  can  be  apparent  in  the  new  ; 

Divans,  saloons,  and  cafes  may  beset 
The  hearts  of  youth,  and  seem  to  fancy's  view 
Places  more  fit  to  lounge  in,  while  the  stewe 

Of  numbers  has  a  charme  ;  but  oh,  how  far 
From  hearty  is  the  pleasure  they  pursue, 

Each  man  his  single  rummyr  and  cigarre, 

Puffing,  all  by  himself — a  sulky,  smoky  warre  ! 

But  vain  it  is  to  sorrow  for  the  past, 

Dun-Edin  stands  not  now  quhair  once  it  stoode  : 
Ilka  thing  of  old  is  hastenyng  from  it  fast, 

And  brydges  it  must  haif,  althoch  no  floode  ; 

The  auld  wes  cozie,  and  the  auld  wes  goode, 
And  Mistress  P of  hostelress  wes  the  quene  ; 

But  dinging  down  is  now  the  reigning  moode, 
And  auld-toun  hostels  are  extynguyshed  clene ; 
I  haif,  in  troth,  ane  end  of  all  perfection  seen. 

ROBERT   CHAMBERS. 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS 


The  pilgrim  strolls  away  into  the  Canongate,  .  .  .  and  still 
the  storied  figures  of  history  walk  by  his  side  or  come  to  meet 
him  at  every  close  and  wynd.  John  Knox,  Robert  Burns, 
Tobias  Smollett,  David  Hume,  Dugald  Stuart,  John  Wilson, 
Hugh  Miller — Gay,  led  onward  by  the  blythe  and  gracious 
Duchess  of  Queensberry,  and  Dr.  Johnson,  escorted  by  the 
affectionate  and  faithful  James  Boswell,  the  best  biographer 
that  ever  lived, — these  and  many  more,  the  lettered  worthies 
of  long  ago,  throng  into  this  haunted  street  and  glorify  it 
with  the  rekindled  splendours  of  other  days.  You  cannot  be 
lonely  here.  This  it  is  that  makes  the  place  so  eloquent  and 
so  precious. 

WILLIAM    WINTER. 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 

SCOTT  is  representative  of  the  mind  of  his  age  :  and 
because  he  is  the  greatest  man  born  amongst  us,  and 
intended  for  the  enduring  type  of  us,  all  our  principal 
faults  must  be  laid  on  his  shoulders,  and  he  must 
bear  down  the  dark  marks  to  the  latest  ages  ;  while 
the  smaller  men,  who  have  some  special  work  to  do, 
perhaps  not  so  much  belonging  to  this  age  as  leading 
out  of  it  to  the  next,  are  often  kept  providentially 
quit  of  the  encumbrances  which  they  had  not  strength 
to  sustain,  and  are  much  smoother  and  pleasanter  to 
look  at,  in  their  way  :  only  that  is  a  smaller  way. 

Thus,  the  most  startling  fault  of  the  age  being 
its  faithlessness,  it  is  necessary  that  its  greatest 
man  should  be  faithless.  Nothing  is  more  notable 
or  sorrowful  in  Scott's  mind  than  its  incapacity  of 
steady  belief  in  anything.  He  cannot  even  resolve 
hardily  to  believe  in  a  ghost,  or  a  water-spirit  ; 
always  explains  them  away  hi  an  apologetic  manner, 
not  believing,  all  the  while,  even  in  his  own  explana- 
tion. He  never  can  clearly  ascertain  whether  there 
is  anything  behind  the  arras  but  rats  ;  never  draws 
sword,  and  thrusts  at  it  for  life  or  death  ;  but  goes 
on  looking  at  it  timidly,  and  saying,  '  it  must  be  the 
wind.'  He  is  educated  a  Presbyterian,  and  remains 
one,  because  it  is  the  most  sensible  thing  he  can  do 
if  he  is  to  live  in  Edinburgh.  .  .  . 

The  excellence  of  Scott's  work  is  precisely  in  pro- 
portion to  the  degree  in  which  it  is  sketched  from 
333 


334          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

present  nature.  His  familiar  life  is  inimitable  ;  his 
quiet  scenes  of  introductory  conversation,  as  the 
beginning  of  Rob  Roy  and  Redgauntlet,  and  all  his 
living  Scotch  characters,  mean  or  noble,  from  Andrew 
Fairservice  to  Jeanie  Deans,  are  simply  right,  and 
can  never  be  bettered.  ...  It  was  necessary  that 
Scott  should  know  nothing  of  art.  He  neither  cared 
for  painting  nor  sculpture,  and  was  totally  incapable 
of  forming  a  judgment  about  them.  He  had  some 
confused  love  of  Gothic  architecture,  because  it  was 
dark,  picturesque,  old,  and  like  Nature.  .  .  .  Like  all 
pure  moderns,  he  supposes  the  Gothic  barbarous, 
notwithstanding  his  love  of  it ;  admires,  in  an  equally 
ignorant  way,  totally  opposite  styles  ;  is  delighted 
with  the  new  town  of  Edinburgh  ;  mistakes  its  dull- 
ness for  purity  of  taste,  and  actually  compares  it,  in 
its  deathful  formality  of  street,  as  contrasted  with 
the  rudeness  of  the  old  town,  to  Britomart  taking  off 
her  armour.  Again  :  as  in  reverence  and  irreverence, 
so  in  levity  and  melancholy,  we  saw  that  the  spirit 
of  the  age  was  strangely  interwoven.  Therefore, 
also,  it  is  necessary  that  Scott  should  be  light,  careless, 
unearnest,  and  yet  eminently  sorrowful.  Through- 
out all  his  work  there  is  no  evidence  of  any  purpose 
but  to  while  away  the  hour.  His  life  had  no  other 
object  than  the  pleasure  of  the  instant,  and  the 
establishing  of  a  family  name.  All  his  thoughts  were, 
in  their  outcome  and  end,  less  than  nothing,  and 
vanity.  And  yet,  of  all  poetry  that  I  know,  none  is 
so  sorrowful  as  Scott's.  Other  great  masters  are 
pathetic  in  a  resolute  and  predetermined  way,  when 
they  choose  ;  but,  in  their  own  minds,  are  evidently 
stern,  or  hopeful,  or  serene  ;  never  really  melancholy. 
Even  Byron  is  rather  sulky  and  desperate  than 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       335 

melancholy ;  Keats  is  sad  because  he  is  sickly ; 
Shelley  because  he  is  impious  ;  but  Scott  is  inherently 
and  consistently  sad.  Around  all  his  power,  and 
brightness,  and  enjoyment  of  eye  and  heart,  the  far- 
away jEolian  knell  is  for  ever  sounding  ;  there  is  not 
one  of  those  loving  or  laughing  glances  of  his  but  it 
is  brighter  for  the  film  of  tears  ;  his  mind  is  like  one 
of  his  own  hill  rivers, — it  is  white,  and  flashes  in  the 
sun  fairly,  careless,  as  it  seems,  and  hasty  in  its  going, 
but 

'  Far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep 
From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 
Where  alders  moist,  and  willows  weep, 
You  hear  her  streams  repine. 

Life  begins  to  pass  from  him  very  early  ;  and  while 
Homer  sings  cheerfully  in  his -blindness,  and  Dante 
retains  his  courage,  and  rejoices  in  hope  of  Paradise, 
through  all  his  exile,  Scott,  yet  hardly  past  his  youth, 
lies  pensive  in  the  sweet  sunshine  and  among  the 
harvests  of  his  native  hills. 

JOHN    RUSKIN. 

CHRISTOPHER  NORTH 
(PROFESSOR  WILSON*) 

THERE  are  many  Newtons  in  England  :  yet,  for  all 
that,  there  is  but  one  Newton  for  earth  and  the  chil- 
dren of  earth  ;  which  Newton  is  Isaac,  and  Kepler  is 
his  prophet.  There  are  many  Wilsons  in  Scotland, 
and  indeed  many  out  of  Scotland  ;  yet,  for  all  that, 
Mother  Earth  and  her  children  recognize  but  one, 
which  one  sits  in  the  Edinburgh  chair  of  Moral 
Philosophy.  And  when  that  is  said,  all  is  said  ;  is 
there  anything  to  say  more  ?  .  .  .  Such  a  radiance, 
*  Part  author  of  the  celebrated  '  Noctes  Ambrosianae.' 


336          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

which  extinguishes  all  lesser  lights,  has  its  own  evils. 
If  a  man  like  Mr.  Touchwood  of  the  Hottle  in  '  St. 
Ronan's  Well '  should  find  his  way  to  Tim-  (or  to 
Tom-)  bucktoo,  no  matter  which,  for  Tim  and  Tom 
are  very  like  each  other  (especially  Tim) — in  that 
case,  he  might  have  occasion  to  draw  a  bill  upon 
England.  And  such  a  bill  would  assuredly  find  its 
way  to  its  destination.  The  drawer  of  this  bill 
might  probably  be  intercepted  on  his  homeward 
route,  but  the  bill  would  not.  Now,  if  this  bill  were 
drawn  upon  '  John  Wilson,'  tout  court,  not  a  post- 
office  in  Christendom  would  scruple  to  forward  it  to 
the  Professor.  The  Professor,  in  reply,  would 
endorse  upon  it  '  no  effects.'  But  in  the  end  he  would 
pay  it,  for  his  heart  would  yearn  with  brotherly 
admiration  towards  a  man  who  had  thumped  his 
way  to  the  very  navel  of  Africa. . . .  From  Oxford,  on 
returning  to  Scotland,  Wilson  rejoined  his  mother, 
then  living  in  Queen  Street,  Edinburgh.  He  adopted 
the  law  as  his  nominal  profession,  with  no  fixed  resolu- 
tion, perhaps,  to  practise  it.  ...  We  think  it  was 
[in  1817]  that  Blackwood's  Magazine  was  established, 
which,  from  the  seventh  number  downwards  (though 
latterly  by  intermitting  fits),  has  continued  to  draw 
more  memorable  support  from  him  than  ever  journal 
did  from  the  pen  of  an  individual  writer.  .  .  .  Out 
of  these  magazine  articles  has  been  drawn  the  occa- 
sion of  a  grave  reproach  to  Professor  Wilson.  Had 
he,  it  is  said,  thrown  the  same  weight  of  energy  and 
the  same  fiery  genius  into  a  less  desultory  shape,  it 
is  hard  to  compute  how  enormous  and  systematic 
a  book  he  might  have  written.  That  is  true  :  had 
he  worked  a  little  at  the  book  every  day  of  his  life, 
on  the  principle  of  the  Greek  painter — nulla  dies 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       337 

sine  linea — by  this  time  the  book  would  have  towered 
into  that  altitude  as  to  require  long  ladders  and 
scaffoldings  for  studying  it ;  and,  like  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield's  family  picture,  could  find  its  way  into 
no  human  chambers  without  pulling  down  the  sides 
of  the  house.  In  the  foot-notes,  where  the  street 
lamps  would  keep  him  in  order,  the  Professor  might 
have  carried  on  soberly  enough.  But  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  page,  where  he  would  feel  himself  striding 
away  in  nubibus,  oh  crimini !  what  larkings  there 
would  have  been,  what  sprees  with  the  Aurora 
Borealis  !  What  a  rise  he  would  have  taken  out  of 
us  poor  wretches  below  !  The  man  in  the  moon 
would  have  been  frightened  into  apogee  by  the 
menaces  of  the  crutch.  And,  after  all,  the  book 
never  could  have  been  suffered  to  stay  at  home  ;  it 
must  have  been  exported  to  Central  Asia  on  Dr. 
Johnson's  principle,  who  said  to  Miss  Knight,  a  young 
Englishwoman  of  very  large  dimensions,  when  she 
communicated  to  the  doctor  her  design  to  live  on 
the  Continent,  '  Do,  my  dear,  by  all  means — really 
you  are  too  big  for  an  island.'  Certainly,  awful 
thoughts  of  capsizing  flit  across  the  fancy,  when  one 
sees  too  vast  a  hulk  shipped  on  board  our  light  little 
Britannic  ark.  But,  speaking  seriously,  the  whole 
doctrine,  from  which  exhales  this  charge  against  the 
Professor  of  misapplied  powers,  calls  for  revision.  .  .  . 
To  the  author  of  every  big  book,  so  far  from  regarding 
him  as  a  benefactor,  the  torture  ought  to  be  adminis- 
tered instantly  by  this  interrogative  dilemma  :  Is 
there  anything  new  (which  is  not  false)  in  your  book  ? 
If  he  says  no,  then  you  have  a  man,  by  his  own  con- 
fession, ripe  for  the  gallows.  If  he  says — yes,  then 
you  reply  :  What  a  wretch  in  that  case  must  you  be, 

22 


338          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

that  have  hidden  a  thing,  which  you  suppose  im- 
portant to  mankind,  in  that  great  wilderness  of  a 
book  where  I  and  other  honest  men  must  spend 
half  a  life  in  running  about  to  find  it  !  It  is,  besides, 
the  remark  of  a  clever  French  writer  in  our  own 
days,  that  hardly  any  of  the  cardinal  works,  upon 
which  revolve  the  capital  interests  of  man,  are  large 
works.  Plato,  for  instance,  has  but  one  of  his  many 
works  large  enough  to  fill  a  small  octavo.  Aristotle, 
as  a  bulk,  is  a  mere  pamphleteer,  if  you  except  per- 
haps four  works  ;  and  each  of  those  might  easily 
be  crowded  into  a  duodecimo.  Neither  Shakespeare 
nor  Milton  has  written  any  long  work.  Newton's 
Principia,  indeed,  makes  a  small  quarto  ;  but  this 
arises  from  its  large  type  and  its  diagrams  :  it  might 
be  printed  in  a  pocket  shape.  And,  besides  all  this, 
even  when  a  book  is  a  large  one,  we  usually  become 
acquainted  with  it  but  by  extracts  or  by  abstracts 
and  abridgments.  All  poets  of  any  length  are  read 
by  snatches  and  fragments,  when  once  they  have 
ascended  to  great  popularity  ;  so  that  the  logic  of 
reproach  against  Professor  Wilson  is  like  that  logic 
which  Mr.  Bald,  the  Scottish  engineer,  complained 
of  in  the  female  servants  of  Edinburgh.  '  They  in- 
sist,' said  he,  '  upon  having  large  blocks  of  coal  fur- 
nished to  them  ;  they  will  not  put  up  with  any  that 
are  less  :  and  yet  every  morning  the  Cynic,  who 
delights  in  laughing  at  female  caprices,  may  hear 
these  same  women  down  in  areas  braying  to  pieces 
the  unmanageable  blocks,  and  using  severe  labour, 
for  no  purpose  on  earth  but  at  last  to  bring  the  coal 
into  that  very  state  in  which,  without  any  labour  at 
all,  they  might  have  had  it  from  our  collieries.'  So 
of  Professor  Wilson's  works — they  lie  now  in  short 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       339 

and  detached  papers — that  is,  in  the  very  state  fitted 
for  reading  ;  and,  if  he  had  hearkened  to  his  coun- 
sellors, they  would  have  been  conglutinated  into  one 
vast  block,  needing  a  quarryman's  or  a  miner's 
skill  to  make  them  tractable  for  household  use.  .  .  . 
A  philosophy  of  human  nature,  like  the  philosophy  of 
Shakespeare,  and  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  of  Edmund 
Burke  ...  is  scattered  through  the  miscellaneous 
papers  of  Professor  Wilson.  Such  philosophy  by  its 
very  nature  is  of  a  far  higher  and  more  aspiring 
nature  than  any  which  lingers  upon  more  scholastic 
conundrums.  It  is 'a  philosophy  that  cannot  be  pre- 
sented in  abstract  forms,  but  hides  itself  as  an  in- 
carnation in  voluminous  mazes  of  eloquence  and 
poetic  feeling.  Look  for  this  amongst  the  critical 
essays  of  Professor  Wilson,  which,  for  continual 
glimpses  and  revelations  of  hidden  truth,  are  perhaps 
absolutely  unmatched. 

THOMAS   DE   QUINCEY. 


A  PORTRAIT  OF  ROBERT  BURNS 

IT  was  a  curious  phenomenon,  in  the  withered,  un- 
believing, secondhand  eighteenth  century,  that  of 
a  hero  starting  up,  among  the  artificial  pasteboard 
figures  and  productions,  in  the  guise  of  a  Robert 
Burns.  Like  a  little  well  in  the  rocky  desert  places, 
— like  a  sudden  splendour  of  heaven  in  the  artificial 
Vauxhall !  People  knew  not  what  to  make  of  it. 
They  took  it  for  a  piece  of  the  Vauxhall  fire-work  ; 
alas  !  it  let  itself  be  so  taken,  though  struggling  half- 
blindly,  as  in  bitterness  of  death,  against  that ! 
Perhaps  no  man  had  such  a  false  reception  from  his 
fellow-men.  Once  more  a  very  wasteful  life-drama 

22—2 


340          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

was  enacted  under  the  sun.  .  .  .  No  lot  could  be 
more  perverse  than  Burns's.  Among  those  second- 
hand acting-figures,  mimes  for  most  part,  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  once  more  a  giant  original  man  ; 
one  of  those  men  who  reach  down  to  the  perennial 
deeps,  who  take  rank  with  the  heroic  among  men  : 
and  he  was  born  in  a  poor  Ayrshire  hut.  The  largest 
soul  of  all  the  British  lands  came  amongst  us  in  the 
shape  of  a  hard-handed  Scottish  peasant.  .  .  . 

One  of  the  most  considerable  Saxon  men  of  the 
eighteenth  century  was  an  Ayrshire  peasant  named 
Robert  Burns.  Yes,  I  will  say,  nere  too  was  a  piece 
of  the  right  Saxon  stuff  :  strong  as  the  Harz-rock, 
rooted  in  the  depths  of  the  world ; — rock,  yet  with 
wells  of  living  softness  in  it  !  A  wild  impetuous 
whirlwind  of  passion  and  faculty  slumbered  quiet 
there  ;  such  heavenly  melody  dwelling  in  the  heart 
of  it.  A  noble  rough  genuineness  ;  homely,  rustic, 
honest ;  true  simplicity  of  strength  :  with  its  lightning- 
fire,  with  its  soft  dewy  pity ; — like  the  old  Norse 
Thor,  the  peasant-god  ! — 

Burns's  brother  Gilbert,  a  man  of  much  sense  and 
worth,  has  told  me  that  Robert,  in  his  young  days,  in 
spite  of  their  hardship,  was  usually  the  gayest  of 
speech  ;  a  fellow  of  infinite  frolic,  laughter,  sense  and 
heart ;  far  pleasanter  to  hear  there,  stript  cutting 
peats  in  the  bog,  or  such-like,  than  he  ever  afterwards 
knew  him.  I  can  well  believe  it.  This  basis  of 
mirth  (fond  gaillard,  as  old  Marquis  Mirabeau  calls 
it),  a  primal -element  of  sunshine  and  joyfulness, 
coupled  with  his  other  deep  and  earnest  qualities,  is 
one  of  the  most  attractive  characteristics  of  Burns. 
A  large  fund  of  hope  dwells  in  him  ;  spite  of  his 
tragical  history,  he  is  not  a  mourning  man.  He 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       341 

shakes  his  sorrows  gallantly  aside  ;  bounds  forth  vic- 
torious over  them.  It  is  as  the  lion  shaking  '  dew- 
drops  from  his  mane  ';  as  the  swift-bounding  horse, 
that  laughs  at  the  shaking  of  the  spear. — But  indeed, 
hope,  mirth,  of  the  sort  like  Burns 's,  are  they  not  the 
outcome  properly  of  warm  generous  affection, — such 
as  is  the  beginning  of  all  to  every  man  ?  .  .  . 

My  last  remark  is  on  that  notablest  phasis  of 
Burns's  history, — his  visit  to  Edinburgh.  Often  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  his  demeanour  there  were  the 
highest  proof  he  gave  of  what  a  fund  of  worth  and 
genuine  manhood  was  in  him.  If  we  think  of  it, 
few  heavier  burdens  could  be  laid  on  the  strength  of 
a  man.  So  sudden  ;  all  common  lionism,  which  ruins 
innumerable  men,  was  as  nothing  to  this.  It  is  as 
if  Napoleon  had  been  made  a  king  of,  not  gradually, 
but  at  once  from  the  artillery  lieutenancy  in  the 
Regiment  La  Fere.  Burns,  still  only  in  his  twenty- 
seventh  year,  is  no  longer  even  a  ploughman  ;  he  is 
flying  to  the  West  Indies  to  escape  disgrace  and  a  jail. 
This  month  he  is  a  ruined  peasant,  his  wages  seven 
pounds  a  year,  and  these  gone  from  him  :  next  month 
he  is  in  the  blaze  of  rank  and  beauty,  handing  down 
jewelled  duchesses  to  dinner  ;  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes. 
Adversity  is  sometimes  hard  upon  a  man  ;  but  for  one 
man  who  can  stand  prosperity,  there  are  a  hundred 
that  will  stand  adversity.  I  admire  much  the  way 
in  which  Burns  met  all  this.  Perhaps  no  man  one 
could  point  out,  was  ever  so  sorely  tried,  and  so  little 
forgot  himself.  Tranquil,  unastonished  ;  not  abashed, 
not  inflated,  neither  awkwardness  nor  affectation  : 
he  feels  that  he  there  is  the  man  Robert  Burns  ; 
that  the  '  rank  is  but  the  guinea-stamp  ';  that  the 
celebrity  is  but  the  candle-light,  which  will  show 


342          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

what  man,  not  in  the  least  make  him  a  better  or 
other  man  !  Alas,  it  may  readily,  unless  he  look  to 
it,  make  him  a  worse  man  ;  a  wretched  inflated  wind- 
bag,— inflated  till  he  burst  and  become  a  dead  lion ; 
for  whom,  as  some  one  has  said,  '  there  is  no  resurrec- 
tion of  the  body  ';  worse  than  a  living  dog  ! — Burns 
is  admirable  here. 

And  yet,  alas,  as  I  have  observed  elsewhere,  these 
lion-hunters  were  the  ruin  and  death  of  Burns.  It 
was  they  that  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  live  ! 
They  gathered  round  him  in  his  farm  ;  hindered  his 
industry  ;  no  place  was  remote  enough  from  them. 
He  could  not  get  his  Monism  forgotten,  honestly  as 
he  was  disposed  to  do  so.  He  falls  into  discontents, 
into  miseries,  faults  ;  the  world  getting  ever  more 
desolate  for  him  ;  health,  character,  peace  of  mind  all 
gone  ; — solitary  enough  now.  It  is  tragical  to  think 
of.  These  men  came  but  to  see  him  ;  it  was  out  of 
no  sympathy  with  him,  nor  no  hatred  to  him.  They 
came  to  get  a  little  amusement :  they  got  their 
amusement ; — and  the  hero's  life  went  for  it  ! 

THOMAS   CARLYLE. 


A  PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN  KNOX 

IN  the  history  of  Scotland  I  can  find  properly  but 
one  epoch  :  we  may  say  it  contains  nothing  of  world- 
interest  at  all  but  this  Reformation  by  Knox.  .  .  . 
This  that  Knox  did  for  his  nation  ...  we  may 
really  call  a  resurrection  as  from  death.  It  was  not 
a  smooth  business  ;  but  it  was  welcome  surely,  and 
cheap  at  that  price,  had  it  been  far  rougher.  On 
the  whole,  cheap  at  any  price  ; — as  life  is.  The 
people  began  to  live  :  they  needed  first  of  all  to  do 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       343 

that,  at  what  cost  and  costs  soever.  Scotch  litera- 
ture and  thought,  Scotch  industry ;  James  Watt, 
David  Hume,  Walter  Scott,  Robert  Burns  :  I  find 
Knox  and  the  Reformation  acting  in  the  heart's 
core  of  every  one  of  these  persons  and  phenomena  ; 
I  find  that  without  the  Reformation  they  would  not 
have  been.  ...  He  is  the  one  Scotchman  to  whom,  of 
all  others,  his  country  and  the  world  owe  a  debt. 
He  has  to  plead  that  Scotland  would  forgive  him 
for  having  been  worth  to  it  any  million  '  unblam- 
able '  Scotchmen  that  need  no  forgiveness !  He 
bared  his  breast  to  the  battle  ;  had  to  row  in  French 
galleys,  wander  forlorn  in  exile,  in  clouds  and  storms  ; 
was  censured,  shot  at  through  his  windows  ;  had  a 
right  sore  fighting  life  :  if  this  world  were  his  place 
of  recompense,  he  had  made  but  a  bad  venture  of 
it.  I  cannot  apologize  for  Knox.  To  him  it  is  very 
indifferent,  these  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  or  more, 
what  men  say  of  him.  But  we,  having  got  above  all 
those  details  of  his  battle,  and  living  now  in  clearness 
on  the  fruits  of  his  victory,  we,  for  our  own  sake, 
ought  to  look  through  the  rumours  and  controversies 
enveloping  the  man,  into  the  man  himself. 

For  one  thing,  I  will  remark  that  this  post  of 
prophet  to  his  nation  was  not  of  his  seeking ;  Knox 
had  lived  forty  years  quietly  obscure,  before  he 
became  conspicuous.  He  was  the  son  of  poor  parents  ; 
had  got  a  college  education  ;  became  a  priest  ;  adopted 
the  Reformation,  and  seemed  well  content  to  guide 
his  own  steps  by  the  light  of  it,  nowise  unduly  in- 
truding it  on  others.  He  had  lived  as  tutor  in 
gentlemen's  families  ;  preaching  when  any  body  of 
persons  wished  to  hear  his  doctrine  ;  resolute  he  to 
walk  by  the  truth,  and  speak  the  truth  when  called 


344          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

to  do  it ;  not  ambitious  of  more ;  not  fancying  him- 
self capable  of  more.  In  this  entirely  obscure  way 
he  had  reached  the  age  of  forty  ;  was  with  the  small 
body  of  reformers  who  were  standing  siege  in  St. 
Andrews  Castle, — when  one  day  in  their  chapel, 
the  preacher  after  finishing  his  exhortation  to  these 
fighters  in  the  forlorn  hope,  said  suddenly,  that  there 
ought  to  be  other  speakers,  that  all  men  who  had  a 
priest's  heart  and  gift  in  them  ought  now  to  speak  ; — 
which  gifts  and  heart  one  of  their  own  number,  John 
Knox  the  name  of  him,  had  :  had  he  not  ?  said  the 
preacher,  appealing  to  all  the  audience  :  what  then 
is  his  duty  ?  The  people  answered  affirmatively  ; 
it  was  a  criminal  forsaking  of  his  post,  if  such  a  man 
held  the  word  that  was  in  him  silent.  Poor  Knox 
was  obliged  to  stand  up  ;  he  attempted  to  reply ;  he 
could  say  no  word  ; — burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
ran  out.  It  is  worth  remembering,  that  scene.  He 
was  in  grievous  trouble  for  some  days.  He  felt  what 
a  small  faculty  was  his  for  this  great  work.  He  felt 
what  a  baptism  he  was  called  to  be  baptized  withal. 
He  '  burst  into  tears.'  .  .  . 

This  Knox  cannot  live  but  by  fact  :  he  clings  to 
reality  as  the  shipwrecked  sailor  to  the  cliff.  He  is 
an  instance  to  us  how  a  man,  by  sincerity  itself,  be- 
comes heroic  :  it  is  the  grand  gift  he  has.  We  find  in 
Knox  a  good  honest  intellectual  talent,  no  trans- 
cendent one ; — a  narrow,  inconsiderable  man,  as 
compared  with  Luther  :  but  in  heartfelt  instinctive 
adherence  to  truth,  in  sincerity,  as  we  say,  he  has 
no  superior  ;  nay,  one  might  ask,  What  equal  he  has  ? 
The  heart  of  him  is  of  the  true  prophet  cast.  '  He 
lies  there,'  said  the  Earl  of  Morton  at  his  grave,  '  who 
never  feared  the  face  of  man.'  He  resembles,  more 


JOHN    KNOXS    HOUSE 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       345 

than  any  of  the  moderns,  an  Old-Hebrew  prophet, 
...  an  Old-Hebrew  prophet  in  the  guise  of  an 
Edinburgh  minister  of  the  sixteenth  century.  We 
are  to  take  him  for  that ;  not  require  him  to  be 
other. 

Knox's  conduct  to  Queen  Mary,  the  harsh  visits 
he  used  to  make  in  her  own  palace,  to  reprove  her 
there,  have  been  much  commented  upon.  Such 
cruelty,  such  coarseness  fills  us  with  indignation. 
On  reading  the  actual  narrative  of  the  business, 
what  Knox  said,  and  what  Knox  meant,  I  must  say 
one's  tragic  feeling  is  rather  disappointed.  They  are 
not  so  coarse,  these  speeches  ;  they  seem  to  me  about 
as  fine  as  the  circumstances  would  permit !  Knox 
was  not  there  to  do  the  courtier  ;  he  came  on  another 
errand.  Whoever,  reading  these  colloquies  of  his 
with  the  Queen,  thinks  they  are  vulgar  insolences  of 
a  plebeian  priest  to  a  delicate  high  lady,  mistakes 
the  purport  and  essence  of  them  altogether.  It 
was  unfortunately  not  possible  to  be  polite  with  the 
Queen  of  Scotland,  unless  one  proved  untrue  to  the 
nation  and  cause  of  Scotland.  A  man  who  did  not 
wish  to  see  the  land  of  his  birth  made  a  hunting-field 
for  intriguing  ambitious  Guises,  and  the  cause  of  God 
trampled  underfoot  of  falsehoods,  formulas  and  the 
devil's  cause,  had  no  method  of  making  himself 
agreeable  !  '  Better  that  women  weep,'  said  Morton, 
'  than  that  bearded  men  be  forced  to  weep.'  Knox 
was  the  constitutional  opposition-party  in  Scotland  : 
the  nobles  of  the  country,  called  by  their  station  to 
take  that  post,  were  not  found  in  it ;  Knox  had  to 
go  or  no  one.  The  hapless  Queen  ;  but  the  still  more 
hapless  country,  if  she  were  made  happy  !  Mary 
herself  was  not  without  sharpness  enough,  among 


346          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

her  other  qualities  :  '  Who  are  you/  said  she  once, 
'  that  presume  to  school  the  nobles  and  sovereign  of 
this  realm  ?' — '  Madam,  a  subject  born  within  the 
same,'  answered  he.  Reasonably  answered  !  If  the 
'  subject '  have  truth  to  speak,  it  is  not  the  '  sub- 
ject's '  footing  that  will  fail  him  here.  .  .  . 

I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that  Knox  had  a  soft 
temper  ;  nor  do  I  know  that  he  had  what  we  call  an 
ill-temper.  An  ill-nature  he  decidedly  had  not. 
Kind,  honest  affections  dwell  in  the  much-enduring, 
hard-worn,  ever-battling  man.  That  he  could  re- 
buke Queens,  and  had  such  weight  among  those 
proud  turbulent  nobles,  proud  enough  whatever  else 
they  were  ;  and  could  maintain  to  the  end  a  kind  of 
virtual  presidency  and  sovereignty  in  that  wild 
realm,  he  who  was  only  '  a  subject  born  within  the 
same  ':  this  of  itself  will  prove  to  us  that  he  was 
found,  close  at  hand,  to  be  no  mean  acrid  man ;  but 
at  heart  a  healthful,  strong,  sagacious  man.  .  .  . 
Withal,  unexpectedly  enough,  this  Knox  has  a  vein 
of  drollery  in  him  ;  which  I  like  much,  in  combination 
with  his  other  qualities.  He  has  a  true  eye  for  the 
ridiculous.  His  History,  with  its  rough  earnestness, 
is  curiously  enlivened  with  this.  When  the  two 
prelates,  entering  Glasgow  Cathedral,  quarrel  about 
precedence ;  march  rapidly  up,  take  to  hustling  one 
another,  twitching  one  another's  rochets,  and  at  last 
flourishing  their  crosiers  like  quarter-staves,  it  is  a 
great  sight  for  him  everyway  !  Not  mockery,  scorn, 
bitterness  alone  ;  though  there  is  enough  of  that  too. 
But  a  true,  loving,  illuminating  laugh  mounts  up 
over  the  earnest  visage  ;  not  a  loud  laugh  ;  you  would 
say,  a  laugh  in  the  eyes  most  of  all.  An  honest- 
hearted,  brotherly  man  ;  brother  to  the  high,  brother 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       347 

also  to  the  low  ;  sincere  in  his  sympathy  with  both. 
He  has  his  pipe  of  Bourdeaux  too,  we  find,  in  that 
old  Edinburgh  house  of  his  ;  a  cheery  social  man, 
with  faces  that  loved  him  !  They  go  far  wrong  who 
think  this  Knox  was  a  gloomy,  spasmodic,  shrieking 
fanatic.  Not  at  all  :  he  is  one  of  the  solidest  of  men. 
Practical,  cautious-hopeful,  patient ;  a  most  shrewd, 
observing,  quietly  discerning  man.  In  fact,  he  has 
very  much  the  type  of  character  we  assign  to  the 
Scotch  at  present  :  a  certain  sardonic  taciturnity  is 
in  him  ;  insight  enough  ;  and  a  stouter  heart  than  he 
himself  knows  of. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 


SIR  DAVID  LYNDSAY 
'  Davie  Lyndsay,  "  still  thy  verse  has  charms."  * 

HE  was  a  man  of  middle  age  ; 
In  aspect  manly,  grave,  and  sage, 

As  on  King's  errand  come ; 
But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 
A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 

Expression  found  its  home  ; 
The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 
Which,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 
Branded  the  vices  of  the  age, 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Rome. 
On  milk-white  palfrey  forth  he  paced  ; 
His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

With  the  proud  heron-plume. 
From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and  breast, 

Silk  housings  swept  the  ground, 
With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest, 

Embroider'd  round  and  round. 


348          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  double  tressure  might  you  see, 

First  by  Achaius  borne, 
The  thistle  and  the  fleur-de-lis, 

And  gallant  unicorn. 
So  bright  the  King's  armorial  coat, 
That  scarce  the  dazzled  eye  could  note, 
In  living  colours,  blazon'd  brave, 
The  Lion,  which  his  title  gave  : 
A  train  which  well  beseem'd  his  state, 
But  all  unarm'd,  around  him  wait. 
Still  is  thy  name  in  high"  account, 

And  still  thy  verse  has  charms, 
Sir  David  Lyndsay  of  the  Mount, 

Lord  Lion  King-at-arms  ! 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


GEORGE  HERIOT 

WORTH  of  character,  goodness  of  heart,  and  recti- 
tude of  principle,  were  necessary  to  one  who  laid  no 

claim  to  high  birth  [or]  romantic  sensibility A 

person  who  has  left  the  most  magnificent  proofs  of 
his  benevolence  and  charity  that  the  capital  of  Scot- 
land has  to  display.  To  the  Scottish  reader  little  more 
need  be  said  than  that  the  man  alluded  to  is  George 
Heriot.  But  for  those  south  of  the  Tweed,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  add,  that  the  person  so  named  was  a 
wealthy  citizen  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  King's  gold- 
smith, who  followed  James  to  the  English  capital, 
and  was  so  successful  in  his  profession,  as  to  die,  in 
1624,  extremely  wealthy  for  that  period.  He  had 
no  children ;  and  after  making  a  full  provision  for 
such  relations  as  might  have  claims  upon  him,  he 
left  the  residue  of  his  fortune  to  establish  an  hospital, 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       349 

in  which  the  sons  of  Edinburgh  freemen  are  gratui- 
tously brought  up  and  educated  for  the  station  to 
which  their  talents  may  recommend  them,  and  are 
finally  enabled  to  enter  life  under  respectable  auspices. 
The  hospital  in  which  this  charity  is  maintained  is  a 
noble  quadrangle  of  the  Gothic  order,  and  as  orna- 
mental to  the  city  as  a  building,  as  the  manner  in 
which  the  youths  are  provided  for  and  educated,  .  .  . 
many  of  whom  have  done  honour  to  their  country  in 
different  situations. 

The  founder  of  such  a  charity  as  this  may  be 
reasonably  supposed  to  have  walked  through  life 
with  a  steady  pace,  and  an  observant  eye,  neglecting 
no  opportunity  of  assisting  those  who  were  not 
possessed  of  the  experience  necessary  for  their  own 
guidance. 

SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 

WRITTEN  IN  EDINBURGH 

Poor  Gillies  never  rose  above  that  course  of  extravagance  in 
which  he  was  at  that  time  living,  and  which  soon  reduced  him  to 
poverty  and  all  its  degrading  shifts,  mendicity  being  far  from  the 
worst.  I  grieve  whenever  I  think  of  him,  for  he  was  far  from 
being  without  genius,  and  had  a  generous  heart,  not  always  to 
be  found  in  men  given  up  to  profusion.  He  was  nephew  of 
Lord  Gillies  the  Scotch  judge. 

FROM  the  dark  chambers  of  dejection  freed, 
Spurning  the  unprofitable  yoke  of  care, 
Rise,  Gillies,  rise  ;  the  gales  of  youth  shall  bear 
Thy  genius  forward  like  a  winged  steed. 
Though  bold  Bellerophon  (so  Jove  decreed 
In  wrath)  fell  headlong  from  the  fields  of  air, 
Yet  a  rich  guerdon  waits  on  minds  that  dare, 
If  aught  be  in  them  of  immortal  seed, 
And  reason  govern  that  audacious  flight 


350          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Which  heavenward  they  direct — Then  droop  not  thou, 

Erroneously  renewing  a  sad  vow 

In  the  low  dell  'mid  Roslin's  faded  grove  : 

A  cheerful  life  is  what  the  Muses  love, 

A  soaring  spirit  is  their  prime  delight. 

WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


R.  L.  S. 

THESE  familiar  initials  are,  I  suppose,  the  best  be- 
loved in  recent  literature,  certainly  they  are  the 
sweetest  to  me,  but  there  was  a  time  when  my 
mother  could  not  abide  them.  She  said  '  That 
Stevenson  man  '  with  a  sneer,  and  it  was  never  easy 
to  her  to  sneer.  At  thought  of  him  her  face  would 
become  almost  hard,  which  seems  incredible,  and  she 
would  knit  her  lips  and  fold  her  arms,  and  reply  with 
a  stiff  '  oh  '  if  you  mentioned  his  aggravating  name. 
In  the  novels  we  have  a  way  of  writing  of  our  heroine, 
'  she  drew  herself  up  haughtily,'  and  when  mine 
draw  themselves  up  haughtily  I  see  my  mother  think- 
ing of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  He  knew  her 
opinion  of  him,  and  would  write,  '  My  ears  tingled 
yesterday ;  I  sair  doubt  she  has  been  miscalling  me 
again.'  But  the  more  she  miscalled  him  the  more 
he  delighted  in  her,  and  she  was  informed  of  this, 
and  at  once  said,  '  The  scoundrel  !'  If  you  would 
know  what  was  his  unpardonable  crime,  it  was  this  : 
he  wrote  better  books  than  mine. 

I  remember  the  day  she  found  it  out,  which  was 
not,  however,  the  day  she  admitted  it.  That  day, 
when  I  should  have  been  at  my  work,  she  came  upon 
me  in  the  kitchen,  '  The  Master  of  Ballantrae  '  beside 
me,  but  I  was  not  reading  :  my  head  lay  heavy  on  the 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       351 

table,  and  to  her  anxious  eyes,  I  doubt  not,  I  was 
the  picture  of  woe.  '  Not  writing  !'  I  echoed,  no,  I 
was  not  writing,  I  saw  no  use  in  ever  trying  to  write 
again.  And  down,  I  suppose,  went  my  head  once 
more.  She  misunderstood,  and  thought  the  blow  had 
fallen  ;  I  had  awakened  to  the  discovery,  always 
dreaded  by  her,  that  I  had  written  myself  dry  ;  I 
was  no  better  than  an  empty  ink-bottle.  She  wrung 
her  hands,  but  indignation  came  to  her  with  my 
explanation,  which  was  that  while  R.  L.  S.  was  at 
it  we  others  were  only  'prentices  cutting  our  fingers 
on  his  tools.  '  I  could  never  thole  his  books,'  said 
my  mother  immediately,  and  indeed  vindictively. 

'  You  have  not  read  any  of  them,'  I  reminded  her. 

'  And  never  will,'  said  she  with  spirit. 

And  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  called  him  a  dark 
character  that  very  day.  For  weeks  too,  if  not  for 
months,  she  adhered  to  her  determination  not  to 
read  him,  though  I,  having  come  to  my  senses  and 
seen  that  there  is  a  place  for  the  'prentice,  was 
taking  a  pleasure,  almost  malicious,  in  putting  '  The 
Master  of  Ballantrae '  in  her  way.  I  would  place  it 
on  her  table  so  that  it  said  good-morning  to  her  when 
she  rose.  She  would  frown,  and  carrying  it  down- 
stairs, as  if  she  had  it  in  the  tongs,  replace  it  on  its 
book-shelf.  I  would  wrap  it  up  in  the  cover  she  had 
made  for  the  latest  Carlyle  :  she  would  skin  it  con- 
temptuously and  again  bring  it  down.  I  would  hide 
her  spectacles  in  it,  and  lay  it  on  the  top  of  the 
clothes-basket  and  prop  it  up  invitingly  open  against 
her  tea-pot.  And  at  last  I  got  her,  though  I  forget 
by  which  of  many  contrivances.  What  I  recall 
vividly  is  a  key-hole  view,  to  which  another  member 
of  the  family  invited  me.  Then  I  saw  my  mother 


352          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

wrapped  up  in  '  The  Master  of  Ballantrae  '  and  mutter- 
ing the  music  to  herself,  nodding  her  head  in  approval, 
and  taking  a  stealthy  glance  at  the  foot  of  each  page 
before  she  began  at  the  top.  Nevertheless  she  had  an 
ear  for  the  door,  for  when  I  bounced  in  she  had  been 
too  clever  for  me  ;  there  was  no  book  to  be  seen, 
only  an  apron  on  her  lap,  and  she  was  gazing  out  at  the 
window.  Some  such  conversation  as  this  followed  : — 

'  You  have  been  sitting  very  quietly,  mother.' 

'  I  always  sit  quietly,  I  never  do  anything,  I'm 
just  a  finished  stocking.' 

'  Have  you  been  reading  ?' 

'  Do  I  ever  read  at  this  time  of  day  ?' 

'  What  is  that  in  your  lap  ?' 

'  Just  my  apron.' 

'  Is  that  a  book  beneath  the  apron  ?' 

'  It  might  be  a  book.' 

'  Let  me  see.' 

'  Go  away  with  you  to  your  work.' 

But  I  lifted  the  apron.  '  Why,  it's  '  The  Master 
of  Ballantrae  !'  I  exclaimed,  shocked. 

'So  it  is  !'  said  my  mother,  equally  surprised. 
But  I  looked  sternly  at  her,  and  perhaps  she  blushed. 

'  Well,  what  do  you  think  :  not  nearly  equal  to 
mine  ?'  said  I  with  humour. 

'  Nothing  like  them,'  she  said  determinedly. 

'  Not  a  bit,'  said  I,  though  whether  with  a  smile  or 
a  groan  is  immaterial ;  they  would  have  meant  the 
same  thing.  Should  I  put  the  book  back  on  its 
shelf  ?  I  asked,  and  she  replied  that  I  could  put  it 
wherever  I  liked  for  all  she  cared,  so  long  as  I  took  it 
out  of  her  sight  (the  implication  was  that  it  had 
stolen  on  to  her  lap  while  she  was  looking  out  at  the 
window).  My  behaviour  may  seem  small,  but  I 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       353 

gave  her  a  last  chance,  for  I  said  that  some  people 
found  it  a  book  there  was  no  putting  down  until  they 
reached  the  last  page. 

'  I'm  no  that  kind,'  replied  my  mother. 

Nevertheless  our  old  game  with  the  haver  of  a 
thing,  as  she  called  it,  was  continued,  with  this 
difference,  that  it  was  now  she  who  carried  the  book 
covertly  upstairs,  and  I  who  replaced  it  on  the  shelf, 
and  several  times  we  caught  each  other  in  the  act, 
but  not  a  word  said  either  of  us  ;  we  were  grown 
self  -  conscious.  Much  of  the  play  no  doubt  I 
forget,  but  one  incident  I  remember  clearly.  She 
had  come  down  to  sit  beside  me  while  I  wrote,  and 
sometimes,  when  I  looked  up,  her  eye  was  not  on 
me,  but  on  the  shelf  where  '  The  Master  of  Ballantrae  ' 
stood  inviting  her.  Mr.  Stevenson's  books  are  not 
for  the  shelf,  they  are  for  the  hand ;  even  when  you 
lay  them  down,  let  it  be  on  the  table  for  the  next 
comer.  Being  the  most  sociable  that  man  has  penned 
in  our  time,  they  feel  very  lonely  up  there  in  a  stately 
row.  I  think  their  eye  is  on  you  the  moment  you 
enter  the  room,  and  so  you  are  drawn  to  look  at  them, 
and  you  take  a  volume  down  with  the  impulse  that 
induces  one  to  unchain  a  dog.  And  the  result  is 
not  dissimilar,  for  in  another  moment  you  two  are  at 
play.  Is  there  any  other  modern  writer  who  gets 
round  you  in  this  way  ?  Well,  he  had  given  my 
mother  the  look  which  in  the  ball-room  means,  '  Ask 
me  for  this  waltz,'  and  she  ettled  to  do  it,  but  felt 
that  her  more  dutiful  course  was  to  sit  out  the  dance 
with  this  other  less  entertaining  partner.  I  wrote 
on  doggedly,  but  could  hear  the  whispering.  .  .  . 

'  The  Master  of  Ballantrae'  is  not  the  best.  Conceive 
the  glory,  which  was  my  mother's,  of  knowing  from 

23 


354          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

a  trustworthy  source  that  there  are  at  least  three 
better  awaiting  on  the  same  shelf.  She  did  not  know 
Alan  Breck  yet,  and  he  was  as  anxious  to  step  down 
as  Mr.  Bally  himself.  John  Silver  was  there,  getting 
into  his  leg,  so  that  she  should  not  have  to  wait  a 
moment,  and  roaring,  '  I'll  lay  to  that  !'  when  she 
told  me  consolingly  that  she  could  not  thole  pirate 
stories.  Not  to  know  these  gentlemen,  what  is  it 
like  ?  It  is  like  never  having  been  in  love.  But  they 
are  in  the  house  !  That  is  like  knowing  that  you  will 
fall  in  love  to-morrow  morning.  With  one  word,  by 
drawing  one  mournful  face,  I  could  have  got  my 
mother  to  abjure  the  jam-shelf — nay,  I  might  have 
managed  it  by  merely  saying  that  she  had  enjoyed 
'  The  Master  of  Ballantrae.'  For  you  must  remember 
that  she  only  read  it  to  persuade  herself  (and  me)  of 
its  unworthiness,  and  that  the  reason  she  wanted  to 
read  the  others  was  to  get  further  proof.  All  this 
she  made  plain  to  me,  eyeing  me  a  little  anxiously 
the  while,  and  of  course  I  accepted  the  explanation. 
Alan  is  the  biggest  child  of  them  all,  and  I  doubt  not 
that  she  thought  so,  but  curiously  enough  her  views 
of  him  are  among  the  things  I  have  forgotten.  But 
how  enamoured  she  was  of  '  Treasure  Island,'  and 
how  faithful  she  tried  to  be  to  me  all  the  time  she 
was  reading  it  !  I  had  to  put  my  hands  over  her 
eyes  to  let  her  know  that  I  had  entered  the  room, 
and  even  then  she  might  try  to  read  between  my 
fingers,  coming  to  herself  presently,  however,  to  say 
'  It's  a  haver  of  a  book.' 

'  Those  pirate  stories  are  so  uninteresting,'  I  would 
reply  without  fear,  for  she  was  too  engrossed  to  see 
through  me.  '  Do  you  think  you  will  finish  this 
one  ?'  .  .  . 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       355 

I  remember  how  she  read  '  Treasure  Island,'  hold- 
ing it  close  to  the  ribs  of  the  fire  (because  she  could  not 
spare  a  moment  to  rise  and  light  the  gas),  and  how, 
when  bed-time  came,  and  we  coaxed,  remonstrated, 
scolded,  she  said  quite  fiercely,  clinging  to  the  book, 
'  I  dinna  lay  my  head  on  a  pillow  this  night  till  I 
see  how  that  laddie  got  out  of  the  barrel.'  .  .  . 

At  times  .  .  .  some  podgy,  red-sealed,  blue-crossed 
letter  arrived  from  Vailima,  inviting  me  to  journey 
thither.  (His  directions  were,  '  You  take  the  boat 
at  San  Francisco,  and  then  my  place  is  the  second 
to  the  left.')  Even  London  seemed  to  her  to  carry 
me  so  far  away  that  I  often  took  a  week  to  the 
journey  (the  first  six  days  in  getting  her  used  to  the 
idea),  and  these  letters  terrified  her.  It  was  not  the 
finger  of  Jim  Hawkins  she  now  saw  beckoning  me 
across  the  seas,  it  was  John  Silver,  waving  a  crutch. 
Seldom,  I  believe,  did  I  read  straight  through  one  of 
these  Vailima  letters  ;  when  in  the  middle  I  suddenly 
remembered  who  was  upstairs  and  what  she  was  prob- 
ably doing,  and  I  ran  to  her,  three  steps  at  a  jump,  to 
find  her,  lips  pursed,  hands  folded,  a  picture  of  gloom. 

'  I  have  a  letter  from ' 

'  So  I  have  heard.' 

'  Would  you  like  to  hear  it  ?' 

'No.' 

'  Can  you  not  abide  him  ?' 

'  I  canna  thole  him.' 

'  Is  he  a  black  ?' 

'  He  is  all  that.' 

Well,  Vailima  was  the  one  spot  on  earth  I  had  any 
great  craving  to  visit,  but  I  think  she  always  knew  I 
would  never  leave  her.  Sometime,  she  said,  she 
should  like  me  to  go,  but  not  until  she  was  laid 


356          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

away.  '  And  how  small  I  have  grown  this  last 
winter.  Look  at  my  wrists.  It  canna  be  long 
now.'  No,  I  never  thought  of  going,  was  never 
absent  for  a  day  or  two  from  her  without  reluctance, 
and  never  walked  so  quickly  as  when  I  was  going 
back.  In  the  meantime  that  happened  which  put 
an  end  for  ever  to  my  scheme  of  travel.  I  shall  never 
go  up  the  Road  of  Loving  Hearts  now,  on  a  '  won- 
derful clear  night  of  stars,'  to  meet  the  man  coming 
toward  me  on  a  horse.  It  is  still  a  wonderful  clear 
night  of  stars,  but  the  road  is  empty.  So  I  never 
saw  the  dear  king  of  us  all.  But  before  he  had 
written  books  he  was  in  my  part  of  the  country  with 
a  fishing-wand  in  his  hand,  and  I  like  to  think  that 
I  was  the  boy  who  met  him  that  day  by  Queen 
Margaret's  burn,  where  the  rowans  are,  and  busked  a 
fly  for  him,  and  stood  watching,  while  his  lithe  figure 
rose  and  fell  as  he  cast  and  hinted  back  from  the 
crystal  waters  of  Noran-side. 

J.    M.    BARRIE. 

APPARITION 
R.    L.    S. 

THIN-LEGGED,  thin-chested,  slight  unspeakably, 
Neat-footed  and  weak-fingered  :  in  his  face — 
Lean,  large-boned,  curved  of  beak,  and  touched 

with  race, 

Bold-lipped,  rich-tinted,  mutable  as  the  sea, 
The  brown  eyes  radiant  with  vivacity — 
There  shines  a  brilliant  and  romantic  grace, 
A  spirit  intense  and  rare,  with  trace  on  trace 
Of  passion  and  impudence  and  energy. 
Valiant  in  velvet,  light  in  ragged  luck, 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       357 

Most  vain,  most  generous,  sternly  critical, 
Buffoon  and  poet,  lover  and  sensualist : 
A  deal  of  Ariel,  just  a  streak  of  Puck, 
Much  Antony,  of  Hamlet  most  of  all, 
And  something  of  the  Shorter-Catechist. 

W.    E.    HENLEY. 


THE  MEMORIAL  TO  R.  L.  S.  IN  ST.  GILES'S 

THIS  memorial  of  Stevenson,  in  my  judgment,  will 
not  be  his  true  and  permanent  memorial ;  that 
memorial  will  be  in  the  school  he  has  founded,  in  the 
infinite  number  of  readers  and  almost  idolaters  of 
his  works  that  exist  throughout  the  world,  and  last, 
but  not  least,  in  his  writings,  that  remain  an  almost 
unparalleled  memorial  of  a  great  man  of  genius.  And 
yet  it  is  well  that  we  should  have  our  memorial  here. 
Is  it  not  a  pathetic  thought  that  this  Scottish  genius, 
so  pre-eminently  Scottish,  should  have  laid  his 
bones,  not  in  the  Lothians  that  he  loved  so  well,  or 
even  in  the  land  which  he  adorned  with  his  genius, 
but  in  the  far  distant  islands  of  the  Pacific  ?  There 
seems  something  anomalous  in  that,  and  yet  genius 
is  world-wide,  and  we  should  not  grudge  to  Samoa 
that  it  holds  the  remains  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
For  long  years  to  come  those  who  love  these  Lothians, 
and,  indeed,  all  Scotland,  will  come  with  not  undue 
reverence  to  visit  the  memorial. 

LORD    ROSEBERY. 


A   PORTRAIT  OF  LORD   BRAXFIELD   PAINTED   BY 
RAEBURN 

ANOTHER  portrait  which  irresistibly  attracted  the 
eye  was  the  half-length  of  Robert  M'  Queen,  of  Brax- 


358          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

field,  Lord  Justice-Clerk.  If  I  know  gusto  in  painting 
when  I  see  it,  this  canvas  was  painted  with  rare 
enjoyment.  The  tart,  rosy,  humorous  look  of  the 
man,  his  nose  like  a  cudgel,  his  face  resting  squarely 
on  the  jowl,  has  been  caught  and  perpetuated  with 
something  that  looks  like  brotherly  love.  A  peculiarly 
subtle  expression  haunts  the  lower  part,  sensual  and 
incredulous,  like  that  of  a  man  tasting  good  Bordeaux 
with  half  a  fancy  it  has  been  somewhat  too  long  un- 
corked. From  under  the  pendulous  eyelids  of  old 
age  the  eyes  look  out  with  a  half-youthful,  half- 
frosty  twinkle.  Hands,  with  no  pretence  to  dis- 
tinction, are  folded  on  the  judge's  stomach.  So 
sympathetically  is  the  character  conceived  by  the 
portrait -painter,  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  avoid 
some  movement  of  sympathy  on  the  part  of  the 
spectator.  And  sympathy  is  a  thing  to  be  encouraged, 
apart  from  humane  considerations,  because  it  supplies 
us  with  the  materials  for  wisdom.  It  is  probably 
more  instructive  to  entertain  a  sneaking  kindness  for 
any  unpopular  person,  and,  among  the  rest,  for  Lord 
Braxfield,  than  to  give  way  to  perfect  raptures  of 
moral  indignation  against  his  abstract  vices.  He 
was  the  last  judge  on  the  Scotch  bench  to  employ  the 
pure  Scotch  idiom.  His  opinions,  thus  given  in 
Doric,  and  conceived  in  a  lively,  rugged,  conversa- 
tional style,  were  full  of  point  and  authority.  Out 
of  the  bar,  or  off  the  bench,  he  was  a  convivial  man, 
a  lover  of  wine,  and  one  who  '  shone  peculiarly  '  at 
tavern  meetings.  He  has  left  behind  him  an  un- 
rivalled reputation  for  rough  and  cruel  speech ;  and 
to  this  day  his  name  smacks  of  the  gallows.  .  .  . 
After  having  made  profession  of  sentiments  so 
cynically  anti-popular  as  these,  when  the  trials  were 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       359 

at  an  end,  which  was  generally  about  midnight, 
Braxfield  would  walk  home  to  his  house  in  George 
Square  with  no  better  escort  than  an  easy  conscience. 
I  think  I  see  him  getting  his  cloak  about  his  shoulders, 
and,  with  perhaps  a  lantern  in  one  hand,  steering  his 
way  along  the  streets  in  the  mirk  January  night. 
It  might  have  been  that  very  day  that  Skirving  had 
defied  him  in  these  words  :  '  It  is  altogether  un- 
availing for  your  lordship  to  menace  me  ;  for  I  have 
long  learned  to  fear  not  the  face  of  man  ';  and  I  can 
fancy,  as  Braxfield  reflected  on  the  number  of  what 
he  called  Grumbletonians  in  Edinburgh,  and  of  how 
many  of  them  must  bear  special  malice  against  so 
upright  and  inflexible  a  judge,  nay,  and  might  at 
that  very  moment  be  lurking  in  the  mouth  of  a  dark 
close  with  hostile  intent — I  can  fancy  that  he  in- 
dulged in  a  sour  smile,  as  he  reflected  that  he  also 
was  not  especially  afraid  of  men's  faces  or  men's 
fists,  and  had  hitherto  found  no  occasion  to  embody 
this  insensibility  in  heroic  words.  For  if  he  was  an 
inhumane  old  gentleman  (and  I  am  afraid  it  is,  a  fact 
that  he  was  inhumane),  he  was  also  perfectly  intrepid. 
You  may  look  into  the  queer  face  of  that  portrait  for 
as  long  as  you  will,  but  you  will  not  see  any  hole  or 
corner  for  timidity  to  enter  in. 

ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


ROBERT  FERGUSSON 

WRITTEN    UNDER   THE    PORTRAIT    OF    FERGUSSON 

CURSE  on  ungrateful  man,  that  can  be  pleas'd, 
And  yet  can  starve  the  author  of  the  pleasure  ! 
O  thou,  my  elder  brother  in  misfortune, 


360          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

By  far  my  elder  brother  in  the  muses, 
With  tears  I  pity  thy  unhappy  fate  ! 

Why  is  the  bard  unpitied  by  the  world, 
Yet  has  so  keen  a  relish  of  its  pleasures  ? 


LINES    ON    FERGUSSON 

Ill-fated  genius  !  Heaven-taught  Fergusson  ! 

What  heart  that  feels  and  will  not  yield  a  tear, 
To  think  life's  sun  did  set  ere  well  begun 

To  shed  its  influence  on  thy  bright  career  ? 
Oh,  why  should  truest  worth  and  genius  pine 

Beneath  the  iron  grasp  of  Want  and  Woe, 
While  titled  knaves  and  idiot  greatness  shine 

In  all  the  splendour  Fortune  can  bestow  ! 

EPITAPH    ON    FERGUSSON 

'  No  sculptur'd  marble  here,  nor  pompous  lay, 
"  No  storied  urn  nor  animated  bust  "; 
This  simple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia's  way 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  her  poet's  dust.' 

ROBERT   BURNS. 


A  POEM, 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  LATE  LEARNED  AND 
EMINENT  MR.  WILLIAM  LAW,  PROFESSOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY 
IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  EDINBURGH 

WHICH,  from  the  crowded  journal  of  thy  fame, — 

Which  of  thy  many  titles  shall  I  name  ? 

For,  like  a  gallant  prince,  that  wins  a  crown,     . 

By  undisputed  right  before  his  own, 

Variety  thou  hast  :  our  only  care 

Is  what  to  single  out,  and  what  forbear. 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       361 

Though  scrupulously  just,  yet  not  severe  ; 
Though  cautious,  open  ;  courteous,  yet  sincere  ; 
Though  reverend,  yet  not  magisterial ; 
Though  intimate  with  few,  yet  loved  by  all ; 
Though  deeply  read,  yet  absolutely  free 
From  all  the  stiffnesses  of  pedantry  ; 
Though  circumspectly  good,  yet  never  sour  ; 
Pleasant  with  innocence,  and  never  more. 
Religion,  worn  by  thee,  attractive  show'd, 
And  with  its  own  unborrow'd  beauty  glow'd  : 
Unlike  the  bigot,  from  whose  watery  eyes 
Ne'er  sunshine  broke,  nor  smile  was  seen  to  rise  ; 
Whose  sickly  goodness  lives  upon  grimace, 
And  pleads  a  merit  from  a  blubber'd  face. 
Thou  kept  thy  raiment  for  the  needy  poor, 
And  taught  the  fatherless  to  know  thy  door  ; 
From  griping  hunger  set  the  needy  free  ; 
That  they  were  needy,  was  enough  to  thee. 

Thy  fame  to  please,  while  others  restless  be, 
Fame  laid  her  shyness  by,  and  courted  thee  ; 
And  though  thou  bade  the  flattering  thing  give  o'er, 
Yet,  in  return,  she  only  woo'd  thee  more. 

ROBERT   BLAIR 

(born  in  Edinburgh  1699). 

AN  EDINBURGH  MAGISTRATE 

'  MY  name  is  Middleburgh — Mr.  James  Middleburgh, 
one  of  the  present  magistrates  of  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh.' 

'  It  may  be  sae,'  answered  Deans  laconically,  and 
without  interrupting  his  labour. 

'  You  must  understand,'  he  continued,  '  that  the 
duty  of  a  magistrate  is  sometimes  an  unpleasant  one.' 


362          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

'  It  may  be  sae,'  replied  David  ;  '  I  hae  naething  to 
say  in  the  contrail ';  and  he  was  again  doggedly  silent. 

'  You  must  be  aware,'  pursued  the  magistrate, 
'  that  persons  in  my  situation  are  often  obliged  to 
make  painful  and  disagreeable  inquiries  of  individuals, 
merely  because  it  is  their  bounden  duty.' 

'  It  may  be  sae,'  again  replied  Deans  ;  '  I  hae 
naething  to  say  anent  it,  either  the  tae  way  or  the 
t'other.  But  I  do  ken  there  was  ance  in  a  day  a  just 
and  God-fearing  magistracy  in  yon  town  o'  Edin- 
burgh, that  did  not  bear  the  sword  in  vain,  but  were 
a  terror  to  evil-doers,  and  a  praise  to  such  as  kept 
the  path.  In  the  glorious  days  of  auld  worthy 
faithfu'  Provost  Dick,  when  there  was  a  true  and 
faithfu'  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  walking  hand 
in  hand  with  the  real  noble  Scottish-hearted  barons, 
and  with  the  magistrates  of  this  and  other  towns, 
gentles,  burgesses,  and  commons  of  all  ranks,  seeing 
with  one  eye,  hearing  with  one  ear,  and  upholding 
the  ark  with  their  united  strength — and  then  folk 
might  see  men  deliver  up  their  silver  to  the  State's 
use,  as  if  it  had  been  as  muckle  sclate  stanes.  My 
father  saw  them  toom  the  sacks  of  dollars  out  o' 
Provost  Dick's  window  intill  the  carts  that  carried 
them  to  the  army  at  Dunse  Law  ;  and  if  ye  winna 
believe  his  testimony,  there  is  the  window  itsell  still 
standing  in  the  Luckenbooths — I  think  it's  a  claith- 
merchant's  booth  the  day — at  the  airn  stanchells, 
five  doors  abune  Gossford's  Close. — But  now  we 
haena  sic  spirit  amang  us  ;  we  think  mair  about  the 
warst  wally-draigle  in  our  ain  byre,  than  about  the 
blessing  which  the  angel  of  the  covenant  gave  to  the 
Patriarch  even  at  Peniel  and  Mahanaim,  or  the 
binding  obligation  of  our  national  vows  ;  and  we  wad 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       363 

rather  gie  a  pund  Scots  to  buy  an  unguent  to  clear 
our  auld  rann ell-trees  and  our  beds  o'  the  English 
bugs  as  they  ca'  them,  than  we  wad  gie  a  plack  to 
rid  the  land  of  the  swarm  of  Arminian  caterpillars, 
Socinian  pismires,  and  deistical  Miss  Katies,  that 
have  ascended  out  the  bottomless  pit,  to  plague  this 
perverse,  insidious,  and  lukewarm  generation.' 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 


THREE  EDINBURGH  FRIENDS 

ONE  November  afternoon  in  1810 — the  year  in 
which  Waverley  was  resumed  and  laid  aside  again, 
to  be  finished  off,  its  last  two  volumes  in  three  weeks, 
and  made  immortal  in  1814,  and  when  its  author,  by 
the  death  of  Lord  Melville,  narrowly  escaped  getting 
a  civil  appointment  in  India  —  three  men,  evidently 
lawyers,  might  have  been  seen  escaping  like  school- 
boys from  the  Parliament  House,  and  speeding  arm- 
in-arm  down  Bank  Street  and  the  Mound,  in  the 
teeth  of  a  surly  blast  of  sleet. 

The  three  friends  sought  the  bield  of  the  low  wall 
old  Edinburgh  boys  remember  well,  and  sometimes 
miss  now,  as  they  struggle  wiih  the  stout  west  wind. 

The  three  were  curiously  unlike  each  other.  One, 
'  a  little  man  of  feeble  make,  who  would  be  unhappy 
if  his  pony  got  beyond  a  foot  pace,'  slight,  with 
'  small,  elegant  features,  hectic  cheek,  and  soft  hazel 
eyes,  the  index  of  the  quick,  sensitive  spirit  within, 
as  if  he  had  the  warm  heart  of  a  woman,  her  genuine 
enthusiasm,  and  some  of  her  weaknesses.'  Another, 
as  unlike  a  woman  as  a  man  can  be  ;  homely,  almost 
common,  in  look  and  figure  ;  his  hat  and  his  coat, 
and  indeed  his  entire  covering,  worn  to  the  quick,  but 


364          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

all  of  the  best  material ;  what  redeemed  him  from 
vulgarity  and  meanness  were  his  eyes,  deep  -  set, 
heavily  thatched,  keen,  hungry,  shrewd,  with  a 
slumbering  glow  far  in,  as  if  they  could  be  dangerous  ; 
a  man  to  care  nothing  for  at  first  glance,  but  some- 
how, to  give  a  second  and  not-forgetting  look  at. 
The  third  was  the  biggest  of  the  three,  and  though 
lame,  nimble,  and  all  rough  and  alive  with  power  ; 
had  you  met  him  anywhere  else,  you  would  say 
he  was  a  Liddersdale  store-farmer,  come  of  gentle 
blood  ;  '  a  stout,  blunt  carle,'  as  he  says  of  himself, 
with  the  swing  and  stride  and  the  eye  of  a  man  of 
the  -hills — a  large,  sunny,  out-of-door  air  all  about 
him.  On  his  broad  and  somewhat  stooping  shoulders, 
was  set  that  head  which,  with  Shakespeare's  and 
Bonaparte's,  is  the  best  known  in  all  the  world. 

He  was  in  high  spirits,  keeping  his  companions 
and  himself  in  roars  of  laughter,  and  every  now  and 
then  seizing  them  and  stopping,  that  they  might  take 
their  fill  of  the  fun ;  there  they  stood  shaking  with 
laughter,  '  not  an  inch  of  their  body  free  '  from  its 
grip.  At  George  Street  they  parted,  one  to  Rose  Court, 
behind  St.  Andrew's  Church,  one  to  Albany  Street,  the 
other,  our  big  and  limping  friend,  to  Castle  Street. 

We  need  hardly  give  their  names.  The  first  was 
William  Erskine,  afterwards  Lord  Kinnedder,  chased 
out  of  the  world  by  a  calumny,  killed  by  its  foul 
breath, — 

'  And  at  the  touch  of  wrong,  without  a  strife, 
Slipped  in  a  moment  out  of  life.' 

There  is  nothing  in  literature  more  beautiful  or  more 
pathetic  than  Scott's  love  and  sorrow  for  this  friend 
of  his  youth. 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       365 

The  second  was  William  Clerk,  —  the  Darsie 
Latimer  of  Redgauntlet ;  '  a  man,'  as  Scott  says,  '  of 
the  most  acute  intellects  and  powerful  apprehen- 
sion,' but  of  more  powerful  indolence,  so  as  to  leave 
the  world  with  little  more  than  the  report  of  what  he 
might  have  been,  —  a  humorist  as  genuine,  though 
not  quite  so  savagely  Swiftian  as  his  brother,  Lord 
Eldin,  neither  of  whom  had  much  of  that  commonest 
and  best  of  all  the  humours,  called  good. 

The  third  we  all  know.  What  has  he  not  done  for 
every  one  of  us  ?  Who  else  ever,  except  Shakespeare, 
so  diverted  mankind,  entertained  and  entertains  a 
world  so  liberally,  so  wholesomely  ?  We  are  fain 
to  say,  not  even  Shakespeare,  for  his  is  something 
deeper  than  diversion,  something  higher  than  plea- 
sure, and  yet  who  would  care  to  split  this  hair  ? 

Had  anyone  watched  him  closely  before  and  after 
the  parting,  what  a  change  he  would  see  !  The 
bright,  broad  laugh,  the  shrewd  jovial  word,  the  man 
of  the  Parliament  House  and  of  the  world  ;  and  next 
step,  moody,  the  light  of  his  eye  withdrawn,  as  if 
seeing  things  that  were  invisible  ;  his  shut  mouth,  like 
a  child's,  so  impressionable,  so  innocent,  so  sad ;  he 
was  now  all  within,  as  before  he  was  all  without  ; 
hence  his  brooding  look.  As  the  snow  blattered  in 
his  face,  he  muttered,  '  How  it  raves  and  drifts  !  On- 
ding  o'  snaw — ay,  that's  the  word — on-ding.'  He 
was  now  at  his  own  door,  '  Castle  Street,  No.  39.' 
He  opened  the  door,  and  went  straight  to  his  den  ; 
that  wondrous  workshop,  where,  in  one  year,  1823, 
when  he  was  fifty-two,  he  wrote  Peveril  of  the  Peak, 
Quentin  Durward,  and  St.  Ronan's  Well,  besides  much 
else.  .  .  . 

He  sat  down  in  his  large,  green  morocco  elbow- 


366          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

chair,  drew  himself  close  to  his  table,  and  glowered 
and  gloomed  at  his  writing  apparatus,  '  a  very  hand- 
some old  box,  richly  carved,  lined  with  crimson 
velvet,  and  containing  ink-bottles,  taper-stand,  etc., 
in  silver,  the  whole  in  such  order,  that  it  might  have 
come  from  the  silversmith's  window  half  an  hour 
before.'  He  took  out  his  paper,  then,  starting  up 
angrily,  said,  '  "  Go  spin,  you  jade,  go  spin."  No, 
d it,  it  won't  do — 

'  My  spinnin*  wheel  is  auld  and  stiff, 

The  rock  o't  wunna  stand,  sir, 
To  keep  the  temper-pin  in  tiff 
Employs  ower  aft  my  hand,  sir.' 

I  am  off  the  fang.  I  can  make  nothing  of  Waverley 
to-day ;  I'll  awa'  to  Marjorie.  Come  wi'  me,  Maida, 
you  thief.'  The  great  creature  rose  slowly,  and  the 
pair  were  off,  Scott  taking  a  maud  (a  plaid)  with  him. 
'  White  as  a  frosted  plum-cake,  by  jingo  !'  said  he, 
when  he  got  to  the  street.  Maida  gambolled  and 
whisked  among  the  snow,  and  his  master  strode 
across  to  Young  Street,  and  through  it  to  i,  North 
Charlotte  Street,  to  the  house  of  his  dear  friend,  Mrs. 
William  Keith  of  Corstorphine  Hill,  a  niece  of  Mrs. 
Keith  of  Ravelston.  .  .  . 

Sir  Walter  was  in  that  house  almost  every  day, 
and  had  a  key,  so  in  he  and  the  hound  went,  shaking 
themselves  in  the  lobby.  '  Marjorie  !  Marjorie  !' 
shouted  her  friend,  '  where  are  ye,  my  bonnie  wee 
croodlin  doo  ?'  In  a  moment  a  bright,  eager  child 
of  seven  was  in  his  arms,  and  he  was  kissing  her 
all  over.  Out  came  Mrs.  Keith.  '  Come  yer  ways 
in,  Wattie.'  '  No,  not  now.  I  am  going  to  take 
Marjorie  wi'  me,  and  you  may  come  to  your  tea  in 
Duncan  Roy's  sedan,  and  bring  the  bairn  home  in 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       367 

your  lap.'  '  Tak'  Marjorie,  and  it  on-ding  o'  snaw  /' 
said  Mrs.  Keith.  He  said  to  himself,  '  On-ding — 
that's  odd — that  is  the  very  word.'  '  Hoot,  awa  ! 
look  here,'  and  he  displayed  the  corner  of  his  plaid, 
made  to  hold  lambs — (the  true  shepherd's  plaid, 
consisting  of  two  breadths  sewed  together,  and 
uncut  at  one  end,  making  a  poke  or  cul-de-sac).  '  Tak' 
yer  lamb,'  said  she,  laughing  at  the  contrivance, 
and  so  the  Pet  was  first  well  happit  up,  and  then 
put,  laughing  silently,  into  the  plaid  neuk,  and  the 
shepherd  strode  off  with  his  lamb, — Maida  gambol- 
ling through  the  snow,  and  running  races  in  her  mirth. 
Didn't  he  face  '  the  angry  airt,'  and  make  her 
bield  his  bosom,  and  into  his  own  room  with  her,  and 
lock  the  door,  and  out  with  the  warm,  rosy,  little 
wine,  who  took  it  all  with  great  composure  !  There 
the  two  remained  for  three  or  more  hours,  making 
the  house  ring  with  their  laughter  ;  you  can  fancy  the 
big  man's  and  Maidie's  laugh. 

JOHN    BROWN,    M.D. 
CADIES 

THERE  is  at  Edinburgh  a  society  or  corporation  of 
errand  -  boys  called  cadies,  who  ply  in  the  streets 
at  night  with  paper  lanterns,  and  are  very  serviceable 
in  carrying  messages.  These  fellows,  though  shabby 
in  their  appearance,  and  rudely  familiar  in  their 
address,  are  wonderfully  acute,  and  so  noted  for 
fidelity,  that  there  is  no  instance  of  a  cadie's  having 
betrayed  his  trust.  Such  is  their  intelligence,  that 
they  know  not  only  every  individual  of  the  place,  but 
also  every  stranger,  by  the  time  he  has  been  four- 
and-twenty  hours  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  no  transaction, 


368          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

even  the  most  private,  can  escape  their  notice. 
They  are  particularly  famous  for  their  dexterity  in 
executing  one  of  the  functions  of  Mercury  ;  though, 
for  my  own  part,  I  never  employed  them  in  this 
department  of  business.  Had  I  occasion  for  any 
service  of  this  nature,  my  own  man,  Archy  M'Alpin, 
is  as  well  qualified  as  e'er  a  cadie  in  Edinburgh  ;  and 
I  am  much  mistaken  if  he  has  not  been  heretofore  of 
their  fraternity.  Be  that  as  it  may,  they  resolved 
to  give  a  dinner  and  a  ball  at  Leith,  to  which  they 
formally  invited  ah1  the  young  noblemen  and  gentle- 
men that  were  at  the  races  ;  and  this  invitation  was 
reinforced  by  an  assurance  that  all  the  celebrated 
ladies  of  pleasure  would  grace  the  entertainment 
with  their  company.  I  received  a  card  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  went  thither  with  half  a  dozen  of  my 
acquaintance.  In  a  large  hall,  the  cloth  was  laid  on 
a  long  range  of  tables  joined  together,  and  here  the 
company  seated  themselves  to  the  number  of  about 
fourscore,  lords  and  lairds,  and  other  gentlemen, 
courtezans  and  cadies,  mingled  together,  as  the 
slaves  and  their  masters  were  in  the  time  of  Saturnalia 
in  ancient  Rome.  The  toast-master,  who  sat  at  the 
upper  end,  was  one  Cadie  Fraser,  a  veteran  pimp, 
distinguished  for  his  humour  and  sagacity,  well- 
known  and  much  respected  in  his  profession  by  all 
the  guests.  He  had  bespoke  the  dinner  and  the 
wine.  He  had  taken  care  that  all  his  brethren  should 
appear  in  decent  apparel  and  clean  linen  ;  and  he 
himself  wore  a  periwig  with  three  tails,  in  honour  of 
the  festival.  I  assure  you  the  banquet  was  both 
elegant  and  plentiful  and  seasoned  with  a  thousand 
sallies,  that  promoted  a  general  spirit  of  mirth  and 
good-humour.  After  the  dessert,  Mr.  Fraser  pro- 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       369 

posed  the  toasts,  which  I  don't  pretend  to  explain. 
.  .  .  All  these  toasts  being  received  with  loud  bursts 
of  applause,  Mr.  Fraser  called  for  pint  glasses,  and 
filled  his  own  to  the  brim.  Then  standing  up,  and 
all  his  brethren  following  his  example,  '  Ma  lords  and 
gentlemen,'  cried  he,  '  here  is  a  cup  of  thanks  for  the 
great  and  undeserved  honour  you  have  done  your 
poor  errand-boys  this  day.'  So  saying,  he  and  they 
drank  off  their  glasses  in  a  trice,  and,  quitting  their 
seats,  took  their  station  each  behind  one  of  the  other 
guests,  exclaiming,  '  Noo  we're  your  honours'  cadies 
again.' 

TOBIAS   SMOLLETT. 


'THE  CADIE' 

IN  Smollett's  time  .  .  .  the  people  all  inhabited  in  the 
Old  Town  of  Edinburgh,  packed  together,  family 
above  family,  for  aught  I  know  clan  above  clan,  in 
little  more  than  one  street,  the  houses  of  which  may, 
upon  an  average,  be  some  dozen  stories  in  height. 
The  aerial  elevation,  at  which  an  immense  proportion 
of  these  people  had  fixed  their  abode,  rendered  it  a 
matter  of  no  trifling  moment  to  ascend  to  them.  .  .  . 
To  seek  out  a  stranger  among  a  hundred  or  two 
such  staircases,  was  of  course  an  undertaking.  And 
so  it  became  a  matter  of  absolute  necessity  that 
Edinburgh  should  possess  some  body  of  citizens  set 
apart,  and  destined  ab  ovo,  for  climbing  staircases 
and  carrying  messages. 

From  this  necessity  sprung  the  high  lineage  of 
'  The  Cadies  of  Auld  Reekie.'  When  I  use  the  word 
'  lineage,'  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  their  trade  ran 

24 


370          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

in  their  blood,  or  that  the  cadies,  as  the  Lake  poet 

sings  : 

'  To  sire  from  grandsire,  and  from  sire  to  son, 
Throughout  their  generations,  did  pursue 
With  purpose,  and  hereditary  love, 
Most  stedfast  and  unwavering,  the  same  course 
Of  labour,  not  unpleasant,  nor  unpaid.' 

The  cadies  bore  more  resemblance  in  this  respect  to 
the  Janissaries  and  Mamelukes  of  Modern,  than  to 
hereditary  hammermen,  cooks,  physicians,  and  priests 
of  ancient  Egypt.  .  .  .  Every  year  brought  from  the 
fastnesses  of  Lochaber  and  Braemar  a  new  supply 
of  scions  to  be  engrafted  upon  the  stock  rooted 
immovably  in  the  heart  of  Auld  Reekie.  .  .  .  How- 
ever produced  and  sustained  ;  whatever  might  be 
the  beauties  or  the  blemishes  of  their  pedigree,  this 
race  continued  for  many  generations,  to  perform 
with  the  same  zeal  and  success  the  same  large  variety 
of  good  offices  to  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh.  The 
cadie  preserved,  amidst  all  his  functions,  not  a  little 
of  the  air  and  aspect  natural  to  him  in  his  own 
paternal  wilderness. 

'  A  savage  wildness  round  him  hung, 

As  of  a  dweller  out  of  doors  ; 
In  his  whole  figure  and  his  mien 
A  savage  character  was  seen, 

Of  mountains  and  of  dreary  moors.' 

He  climbed  staircases  with  the  same  light  and 
elastic  spring  which  had  been  wont  to  carry  him 
unfatigued  to  the  brow  of  Cairngorm  or  Ben-Nevis  ; 
and  he  executed  the  commands  of  his  employer 
pro  tempore,  whatever  they  might  be,  in  the  same 
spirit  of  unquestioning  submission  and  thorough- 
going zeal  with  which  he  had  been  taught  from  his 
infancy  to  obey  the  orders  of  Maccallamore,  Glen- 


A  FEW  EDINBURGH  PORTRAITS       371 

gary,  Gordon,  Grant,  or  whosoever  the  chieftain  of 
his  clan  might  be.  In  order  to  qualify  him  for  the 
exercise  of  this  laborious  profession,  it  was  necessary 
that  the  apprentice-cadie  should  make  himself 
minutely  familiar  with  every  staircase,  every  house, 
every  family,  and  every  individual  in  the  city,  and 
to  one  who  had  laid  in  this  way  a  sound  and  accurate 
foundation  of  information,  it  could  be  no  difficult 
matter  to  keep  on  a  level  with  the  slight  flood  of 
mutation,  which  the  city  and  its  population  was  at 
that  period  accustomed  to.  The  moment  a  stranger 
arrived  in  Edinburgh,  his  face  was  sure  to  attract 
the  observation  of  some  of  this  indefatigable  tribe, 
and  they  knew  no  rest  till  they  had  ascertained  his 
name,  residence,  and  condition — considering  it, 
indeed,  as  a  sort  of  insult  upon  their  body  that  any 
man  should  presume  to  live  within  the  bounds  of 
their  jurisdiction,  and  yet  remain  unpenetrated  by 
the  perspicacity  of  their  unwearied  espionage. 

J.    G.    LOCKHART. 


ALEXANDER  SMITH 

WARRISTON,  not  more  beautiful  than  Dean,  is  perhaps 
more  beautiful  in  situation ;  certainly  it  commands  a 
more  beautiful  prospect.  You  will  visit  Warriston 
for  the  sake  of  Alexander  Smith  ;  for  you  have  not 
forgotten  the  Life  Drama,  the  City  Poems,  Edwin  of 
Deira,  Alfred  Hagart's  Household,  and  A  Summer  in 
Skye.  '  He  lies  in  the  north-east  corner  of  the  ground, 
at  the  foot  of  a  large  lona  cross  which  is  bowered  by  a 
chestnut  tree.  The  cross  is  thickly  carved  with 
laurel,  thistle,  and  holly,  and  it  bears  upon  its  front 

24 — 2 


372          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

the  face  of  the  poet,  in  bronze,  and  the  harp  that 
betokens  his  art.  It  is  a  bearded  face,  having  small, 
refined  features,  a  slightly  pouted,  sensitive  mouth, 
and  being  indicative  more  of  nervous  sensibility  than 
of  rugged  strength.  .  .  .  Standing  by  his  grave,  at 
the  foot  of  this  cross,  you  can  gaze  straight  away 
southward  to  Arthur's  Seat,  and  behold  the  whole 
line  of  imperial  Edinburgh  at  a  glance,  from  the 
Catton  Hill  to  the  Castle.  It  is  such  a  spot  as  he 
would  have  chosen  for  his  sepulchre — face  to  face 
with  the  city  that  he  loved  so  dearly. 

WILLIAM   WINTER. 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH 


I  have  no  dearer  aim  than  to  have  it  in  my  power  ...  to 
make  leisurely  pilgrimages  through  Caledonia  ;  to  sit  on  the 
fields  of  her  battles  ;  to  wander  on  the  romantic  banks  of  her 
rivers  ;  and  to  muse  by  the  stately  towers  or  venerable  ruins, 
once  the  honoured  abodes  of  her  heroes. 

ROBERT    BURNS. 

Edinburgh  .  .  .  with  Stevenson  it  is  the  burden  of  the 
song. 

MARGARET    ARMOUR. 


BEN  JONSON  IN  EDINBURGH 

'  Edinborough — The  heart  of  Scotland,  Britaine's  other  eye' — 
BEN  JONSON.* 

THE  day  before  I  came  from  Edenborough  I  went  to 
Leeth,  where  I  found  my  long  approved  and  assured 
good  friend,  Master  Benjamin  Jonson,  at  one  Master 
John  Stuart's  house  :  I  thanke  him  for  his  great 
kindnesse  towards  me ;  for  at  my  taking  leave  of 
him,  he  gave  me  a  piece  of  gold  of  two  and  twenty 
shillings  to  drink  his  health  in  England  ;  and  withal 
willed  me  to  remember  his  kind  commendations  to 
all  his  friends.  So  with  a  friendly  farewell,  I  left 
him  as  well  as  I  hope  never  to  see  him  in  a  worse 
estate  ;  for  he  is  amongst  Noblemen  and  Gentlemen 
that  knowe  his  true  worth,  and  their  own  honours, 
where  with  much  respective  love  he  is  worthily 
entertained. 

JOHN    TAYLOR. 

MY  PICTURE,  LEFT  IN  SCOTLAND 

I  now  think,  Love  is  rather  deaf  than  blind, 

For  else  it  could  not  be, 
That  she 

Whom  I  adore  so  much,  should  so  slight  me, 
And  cast  my  suit  behind  : 
I'm  sure  my  language  to  her  was  as  sweet, 

And  every  close  did  meet 

In  sentence  of  as  subtle  feet, 

*  Of  Ben  Jonson's  lost  poem,  '  Edinborough,'  only  this  line 

exists. 

375 


376          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

As  hath  the  youngest  he 

That  sits  in  shadow  of  Apollo's  tree. 

Oh  !  but  my  conscious  fears, 
That  fly  my  thoughts  between, 
Tell  me  that  she  hath  seen 
My  hundreds  of  gray  haires 
Told  six  and  forty  years, 
Read  so  much  waste  as  she  cannot  embrace 
My  mountain  belly  and  my  rocky  face, 
And  all  these,  through  her  eyes,  have  stopt  her  ears. 

BEN  JONSON. 

EDINBURGH'S  CALL  TO  BURNS 

TO  THE  NOBLEMEN  AND  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  CALEDONIAN 
HUNT 

MY  LORDS  AND  GENTLEMEN  : 

A  Scottish  Bard,  proud  of  the  name,  and  whose 
highest  ambition  is  to  sing  in  his  country's  service — 
where  shall  he  so  properly  look  for  patronage  as  to 
the  illustrious  names  of  his  native  land ;  those  who 
bear  the  honours  and  inherit  the  virtues  of  their 
ancestors  ?  The  Poetic  Genius  of  my  Country  found 
me,  as  the  prophetic  bard  Elijah  did  Elisha — at  the 
PLOUGH  ;  and  threw  her  inspiring  mantle  over  me. 
She  bade  me  sing  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  rural 
scenes  and  rural  pleasures  of  my  native  soil,  in  my 
native  tongue  :  I  tuned  my  wild,  artless  notes,  as  she 
inspired.  She  whispered  me  to  come  to  this  ancient 
Metropolis  of  Caledonia,  and  lay  my  Songs  under 
your  honoured  protection  :  I  i^ow  obey  her  dictates. 
Though  much  indebted  to  your  goodness,  I  do  not 
approach  you,  my  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  in  the 
usual  style  of  dedication,  to  thank  you  for  past 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  377 

favours  :  that  path  is  so  hackneyed  by  prostituted 
learning,  that  honest  rusticity  is  ashamed  of  it.  Nor 
do  I  present  this  Address  with  the  venal  soul  of  a 
servile  author,  looking  for  a  continuation  of  those 
favours  :  I  was  bred  to  the  plough,  and  am  indepen- 
dent. I  come  to  claim  the  common  Scottish  name 
with  you,  my  illustrious  Countrymen  ;  and  to  tell 
the  world  that  I  glory  in  the  title.  I  come  to  con- 
gratulate my  country,  that  the  blood  of  her  ancient 
heroes  still  runs  uncontaminated ;  and  that  from 
your  courage,  knowledge,  and  public  spirit,  she  may 
expect  protection,  wealth,  and  liberty.  In  the  last 
place,  I  come  to  proffer  my  warmest  wishes  to  the 
Great  Fountain  of  Honour,  the  Monarch  of  the 
Universe,  for  your  welfare  and  happiness. 

When  you  go  forth  to  waken  the  echoes,  in  the 
ancient  and  favourite  amusement  of  your  fore- 
fathers, <nay  Pleasure  ever  be  of  your  party  :  and 
may  social  Joy  await  your  return  !  When  harassed 
in  courts  or  camps  with  the  jostlings  of  bad  men 
and  bad  measures,  may  the  honest  tonsciousness 
of  injured  worth  attend  your  return  to  your  native 
seats  ;  and  may  domestic  happiness,  with  a  smiling 
welcome,  meet  you  at  your  gates  !  May  corruption 
shrink  at  your  kindling  indignant  glance  ;  and  may 
tyranny  in  the  ruler,  and  licentiousness  in  the  people, 
equally  find  you  an  inexorable  foe  ! 

I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

With  the  sincerest  gratitude  and  highest  respect, 
My  Lords  and  Gentlemen, 

Your  most  devoted  humble  Servant, 
ROBERT  BURNS. 

EDINBURGH,  April  4,  1787. 


378          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 


BURNS  IN  EDINBURGH 

*  As  I  came  in  by  Glenap 
I  met  an  aged  woman, 
And  she  bade  me  cheer  up  my  heart, 
For  the  best  of  my  days  was  coming.' 

THIS  stanza  was  one  of  Burns's  favourite  quotations  ; 
and  he  told  a  friend,  many  years  afterwards,  that  he 
remembered  humming  it  to  himself,  over  and  over, 
on  his  way  from  Mossgiel  to  Edinburgh.  ...  In  so 
small  a  capital,  where  everybody  knows  everybody, 
that  which  becomes  a  favourite  topic  in  one  leading 
circle  of  society  soon  excites  an  universal  interest  ; 
and  before  Burns  had  been  a  fortnight  in  Edinburgh, 
we  find  him  writing  to  his  earliest  patron,  Gavin 
Hamilton,  in  these  terms  :  '  For  my  own  affairs,  I 
am  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  as  eminent  as  Thomas 
a  Kempis  or  John  Bunyan  ;  and  you  may  expect, 
henceforth,  to  see  my  birthday  inscribed  among  the 
wonderful  events  in  The  Poor  Robin  and  Aberdeen 
Almanacks,  along  with  the  Black  Monday  and  the 
Battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge.  .  .  .'  He  is  thus 
addressed  by  one  of  his  old  associates  who  was 
meditating  a  visit  to  Edinburgh  :  '  By  all  accounts, 
it  will  be  a  difficult  matter  to  get  a  sight  of ,  you 
at  all,  unless  your  company  is  bespoke  a  week 
beforehand.  There  are  great  rumours  here  of  your 
intimacy  with  the  Duchess  of  Gordon  and  other 
ladies  of  distinction.  I  am  really  told  that 

"  Cards  to  invite,  fly  by  thousands  each  night  "  ; 

and  if  you  had  one,  there  would  also,  I  suppose,  be 
"  bribes  for  your  old  secretary."  I  observe  you  are 
resolved  to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,  and 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  379 

avoid,  if  possible,  the  fate  of  poor  Fergusson.  In  this 
proud  career,  however,  the  popular  idol  needed  no 
slave  to  whisper  whence  he  had  risen,  and  whither 
he  was  to  return  in  the  ebb  of  the  spring-tide  of 
fortune.  His  "  prophetic  soul "  was  probably  fur- 
nished with  a  sufficient  memento  every  night,  when, 
from  the  soft  homage  of  glittering  saloons  or  tumul- 
tuous applause  of  convivial  assemblies,  he  made  his 
retreat  to  the  humble  garret  of  a  writer's  apprentice, 
a  native  of  Mauchline,  and  as  poor  as  himself.  .  .  .' 
'  It  was  '  [says  Cromek],  '  in  the  house  of  a  Mrs. 
Carfrae,  Baxter's  Close,  Lawnmarket,  first  scale 
stair  on  the  left  hand  in  going  down,  first  door  in 
the  stair.'  .  .  .  The  bucks  of  Edinburgh  accomplished, 
in  regard  to  Burns,  that  in  which  the  boors  of  Ayrshire 
had  failed.  After  residing  some  months  in  Edin- 
burgh, he  began  to  estrange  himself,  not  altogether, 
but  in  some  measure,  from  graver  friends.  Too 
many  of  his  hours  were  now  spent  at  the  table  of 
persons  who  delighted  to  urge  conviviality.  .  .  .  He 
was  not  yet  irrevocably  lost  to  temperance  and 
moderation.  ...  'I  leave  Edinburgh  '  [he  writes] 
'  in  the  course  of  ten  days  or  a  fortnight.  I  shall 
return  to  my  rural  shades,  in  all  likelihood  never 
more  to  quit  them.  I  have  formed  many  intimacies 
and  friendships  here,  but  I  am  afraid  they  are  all  of 
too  tender  a  construction  to  bear  carriage  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.  .  .  .' 

The  magnificent  scenery  of  the  capital  itself  filled 
the  poet  with  extraordinary  delight.  In  the  spring 
mornings  he  walked  very  often  to  the  top  of  Arthur's 
Seat,  and,  lying  prostrate  on  the  turf,  surveyed  the 
rising  of  the  sun  out  of  the  sea  in  silent  admiration  ; 
his  chosen  companion  on  such  occasions  being  that 


380          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

ardent  lover  of  Nature  and  learned  artist,  Mr. 
Alexander  Nasmyth.  The  Braid  Hills,  to  the  south 
of  Edinburgh,  were  also  among  his  favourite  morning 
walks  ;  and  it  was  in  some  of  these  that  Mr.  Dugald 
Stewart  tells  us  '  he  charmed  me  still  more  by  his 
private  conversation  than  he  had  ever  done  in  com. 
pany.  He  was  passionately  fond  of  the  beauties  of 
Nature  ;  and  I  recollect  once  he  told  me,  when  I  was 
admiring  a  distant  prospect  in  one  of  our  morning 
walks,  that  the  sight  of  so  many  smoking  cottages 
gave  a  pleasure  to  his  mind  which  none  could  under- 
stand who  had  not  witnessed,  like  himself,  the 
happiness  and  the  worth  which  they  contained.' 

J.    G.    LOCKHART. 


TO  ROBERT  BURNS 

FROM    HIS    FRIEND    ON    LEAVING   EDINBURGH 

WHILE  Reekie's  bards  your  muse  commen', 
An'  praise  the  numbers  o'  your  pen, 
Accept  this  kin'ly  frae  a  frien' 

Your  Dainty  Davie, 
Wha  ace  o'  hearts  does  still  remain, 

Ye  may  believe  me. 

I  ne'er  was  muckle  gi'en  to  praisin', 
Or  else  ye  might  be  sure  o'  fraisin'  : 
For  trouth  I  think,  in  solid  reason, 

Your  kintra  reed 
Plays  sweet  as  Robin  Fergusson, 

Or  his  on  Tweed.  .  .  . 

Brave  Ramsay  now  an'  Fergusson, 
Wha  hae  sae  lang  time  fill'd  the  throne 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  381 

O'  poetry,  may  now  lie  down 

Quiet  in  their  urns, 
Since  fame,  in  justice,  gies  the  crown 

To  Robert  Burns. 

Hail !  happy  bard  !  ye're  now  confest 
The  king  of  singers  i'  the  West : 
Edina  hath  the  same  exprest ; 

Wi'  joy  they  fin' 
That  ye're,  when  tried  by  Nature's  test, 

Gude  sterlin'  coin.  .  .  . 

Sae  to  conclude,  auld  frien'  an'  neebor, 
Your  muse  forgetna  weel  to  feed  her, 
Then  steer  thro'  life  wi'  birr  an'  vigour, 

To  win  a  horn 
Whase  soun'  shall  reach  ayont  the  Tiber, 

Many  ears  unborne. 

DAVID   SILLAR. 


ROBERT  BURNS  RETURNS  HOME  FROM 
EDINBURGH 

ELLISLAND, 
March  4,   1789. 

To  MRS.  DUNLOP. 

Here  am  I,  my  honoured  Friend,  returned  safe 
from  the  Capital.  To  a  man  who  has  a  HOME,  how- 
ever humble  or  remote  ;  if  that  HOME  is  like  mine, 
the  scene  of  Domestic  comfort ;  the  bustle  of  Edin- 
burgh will  soon  be  a  business  of  sickening  disgust. 

Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  you  I 

When  I  must  sculk  into  a  corner,  lest  the  rattling 
equipage  of  some  gaping  blockhead,  contemptible 
puppy,  or  detestable  scoundrel  should  mangle  me 


382          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

in  the  mire,  I  am  tempted  to  exclaim — '  What  merits 
have  these  wretches  had,  or  what  demerits  have 
I  had,  in  some  state  of  Pre-existence,  that  they 
are  ushered  into  this  state  of  being  with  the  sceptre 
of  rule  and  the  key  of  riches  in  their  puny  fists  ;  and 
I  am  kicked  into  the  world,  the  sport  of  their  folly 
or  the  victim  of  their  pride  ?'  I  have  read  some- 
where of  a  monarch,  in  Spain  I  think  it  was,  who 
was  so  out  of  humour  with  the  Ptolemean  system  of 
astronomy,  that  he  said,  had  he  been  of  the  Creator's 
council  he  could  have  saved  Him  a  great  deal  of 
labour  and  absurdity.  I  will  not  defend  this  blas- 
phemous speech ;  but  often  as  I  have  glided  in 
humble  stealth  through  the  pomp  of  Princes  Street, 
it  has  suggested  itself  to  me  as  an  improvement  on 
the  present  Human  figure,  that  a  man  in  proportion 
to  his  own  conceit  of  his  consequence  in  the  world, 
could  have  pushed  out  the  longitude  of  his  common 
size,  as  a  snail  pushes  out  his  horns,  or  as  we  draw 
out  a  perspective.  This  trifling  alteration,  not  to 
mention  the  prodigious  saving  it  would  be  in  the 
tear  and  wear  of  the  neck  and  limb-sinews  of  many  of 
his  Majesty's  liege  subjects  in  the  way  of  tossing  the 
head  and  tiptoe  strutting,  would  evidently  turn  out 
a  vast  advantage  in  enabling  us  at  once  to  adjust  the 
ceremonials  in  making  a  bow  or  making  way  to  a 
Great  Man,  and  that,  too,  within  a  second  of  the 
precise  spherical  angle  of  reverence  or  an  inch  of 
the  particular  point  of  respectful  distance,  which  the 
important  creature  itself  requires  ;  as  a  measuring 
glance  at  its  towering  altitude  would  determine  the 
affair  like  instinct.  ...  I  have  the  honour  to  be, 
Madam,  your  obliged  friend  and  humble  servt., 

ROBT.  BURNS. 


ARTHUR'S  SEAT,  HOLYROOD,  AND  THE  BURNS  MONUMENT 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  383 

SHELLEY  IN  EDINBURGH 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, 

Direct  to  the  Edinburgh  Post-Office — my  own 
name.  I  passed  to-night  with  the  Mail.  Harriet  is 
with  me.  We  are  in  a  slight  pecuniary  distress.  We 
shall  have  seventy-five  pounds  on  Sunday,  until 
when  can  you  send  £10  ?  Divide  it  in  two. 

Yours, 

PERCY  SHELLEY. 

This  letter  was  written  by  my  friend  at  York,  in 
passing  through  at  midnight  ;  it  did  not  come  to  me 
by  the  post,  but  was  brought  to  my  lodgings  the  next 
morning  from  the  inn.  I  wrote  immediately  to 
Shelley  detailing  my  projects,  and  promising  to  be 
with  him  almost  as  soon  as  my  letter.  I  took  my 
seat  on  the  outside  of  a  stage  coach,  a  front  seat — 
carpet  bags  were  not  yet  discovered,  but  I  saw  my 
small  leathern  portmanteau  placed  in  front  boot. 

Prudence  prescribes  as  little  luggage  as  possible 
on  a  journey  ;  in  genteel  society  an  excuse  serves  a 
traveller  quite  as  well  as  the  most  fashionable  dress- 
coat  ;  with  vulgar  people  tawdry  finery  is  indis- 
pensable, but  the  immortal  gods  hate  the  man  who 
trusts  himself  under  the  same  roof  with  them.  The 
day  was  in  the  first  week  of  September,  the  time  of 
day  was  the  afternoon  ;  the  weather  was  dry  and 
fine.  .  .  . 

From  a  hill,  a  mile  or  two  before  we  came  to 
Berwick,  there  was  a  noble  prospect  of  the  sea,  the 
mouth  of  the  Tweed,  and  much  besides  ;  and  I  be- 
held for  the  first  time  the  hills  of  Scotland,  behind 
which  I  was  to  find  my  incomparable  friend  again. 


384          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

We  descended  to  the  river  Tweed,  and  passed  it 
by  a  very  long  bridge,  upon  which  then  stood  an 
ancient  gateway,  with  a  picturesque  and  remarkable 
effect.  Thirty  years  later,  when  I  came  again  to 
this  old  town  to  grow  very  familiar  with  it,  the  old 
gateway  had  vanished.  Our  coach  drew  up  at  an 
inn  not  very  far  from  the  bridge  ;  here  we  were  to 
remain  some  time,  and  to  dine.  The  inn  was  super- 
latively nasty,  and  the  dinner  impracticable,  im- 
pregnable. I  was  glad  to  escape  from  the  smell  of 
stale  fish,  and  from  the  other  noisome  smells,  and  to 
take  a  turn  upon  the  walls  ;  the  scene  was  sparkling 
and  pleasant.  We  continued  our  journey,  and  after 
riding  a  few  miles  farther  I  was  informed  that  we  had 
entered  Scotland.  The  evening  was  delightful ;  at 
some  points  of  the  road  we  had  fine  sea  views,  and  a 
bold,  rocky  coast ;  at  one  spot  the  guard  made  us 
get  down  and  look  from  a  bridge  into  a  deep,  woody 
ravine  ;  he  called  the  place,  I  think,  Pease  Bridge. 
There  were  open  uninclosed  fields,  with  excellent 
crops  of  corn  in  some  places,  very  clean  and  promis- 
ing, and  a  surprising  breath  of  flourishing  turnips,  as 
well  Swedes  as  the  common  kind.  I  remarked  at 
many  of  the  farms  small  windmills ;  these,  I  was  in- 
formed, were  used  to  turn  winnowing  and  threshing 
machines  ;  they  were  new  to  me.  At  other  portions 
of  the  road  we  crossed  extensive  moors  ;  and  we  passed 
through  Dunbar,  a  dirty,  stinking,  fishing  town.  We 
saw  for  some  time  the  Bass  Rock,  over  the  summit  of 
which  hovered  prodigious  flocks  of  sea  birds.  On 
the  whole,  I  found  much  of  pleasure  and  interest 
in  what  I  saw  of  Scotland  this  afternoon. 

Nor  did  I  want  for  information  and  instruction. 
At  the  back  of  the  coach  sat  a  little,  serious,  middle- 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  385 

aged  man,  whom  we  picked  up  somewhere  after 
entering  Scotland  ;  he,  learning  that  I  was  a  stranger, 
and  that  this  was  my  first  visit  to  a  region  which  he 
assured  us  was  the  finest,  happiest,  most  refined  and 
civilized  country  in  the  known  world,  kindly  took 
upon  himself  the  trouble  of  informing,  and  indeed  of 
forming  my  mind.  He  stood  up  at  his  place,  behind 
a  stack  of  luggage,  and  continually  addressed  me 
across  the  roof  of  the  coach.  He  discoursed,  or 
rather,  I  may  say,  lectured  concerning  the  excellence 
of  the  district  and  of  its  inhabitants  ;  of  the  agricul- 
ture of  the  Lothians,  and  its  vast  and  infinite 
superiority  to  all  other  farming.  Having  discovered 
that  I  was  going  to  Edinburgh,  he  expounded  the 
admirable  nature  and  character  of  that  city,  and 
told  me  all  that  I  ought  to  see,  and  to  believe  on  his 
authority. 

'  You  will  find  it  a  most  remarkable  city ;  by  far 
the  most  remarkable  under  the  heavens,  without  any 
exception  !' 

'  Yes  !  And  it  has  a  Review,  as  remarkable  as 
itself  !'  .  .  . 

Mr.  Pennant,  with  all  the  gravity  of  a  Welshman 
and  a  naturalist,  writes  in  perfect  seriousness : 
'  Asses  are  very  rare  in  Scotland  ;  there  are  none  in 
the  north.'  But  a  greater  and  a  graver  than  Pennant 
was  there  ;  and  he  asseverated  that  Oxford  was  for 
ever  silenced  :  that  University  was  totally  annihi- 
lated ;  she  could  never  show  her  face  again, — never 
hold  up  her  head  ;  she  was  extinguished  ;  she  must  at 
once  retire  ;  she  must  leave  the  work  of  education  to 
abler  hands  than  her  own.  Shoals  of  stndents  would 
come  flocking  thence  by  thousands  to  Edinburgh,  to 
Aberdeen,  to  St.  Andrews,  and  to  the  other  renowned 

25 


386          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Scottish  Universities.  He  spoke  much  about  the 
Oxford  StraWo,  without  appearing  at  all  to  know 
what  he  meant.  I  longed  to  ask  him,  what  he  sup- 
posed the  Oxford  Strabbo  really  was  ;  but  I  did  not 
venture.  He  talked  very  largely  of  '  Mr.  Francis 
Jeffrey,  of  Edinburgh,  advocate  ';  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  personally  acquainted  with  him  ;  and 
indeed  he  admitted,  in  answer  to  my  question,  that 
he  was  not.  '  Mr.  Francis  Jeffrey,  of  Edinburgh, 
advocate  ' — for  he  always  gave  the  name  of  the 
learned  editor  in  full,  with  the  additions — '  is  a  little 
man,  and  a  very  clever  man.'  Both  these  facts  are 
undoubted.  I  had  afterwards  abundant  opportunity 
to  verify  them  myself.  '  He  very  wisely  holds  that 
ridicule  is  the  real  and  genuine,  and  indeed  the  sole 
test  of  truth  :  that  it  is  still  more  necessary  than 
even  the  laws  themselves  for  the  due  maintenance  of 
order  in  a  state  of  high  civilization.  And,  accord- 
ingly, he  has  used  it  most  unsparingly,  as  you  will 
yourself  allow,  in  his  critical  journal ;  and  he  pur- 
poses to  continue  so  to  use  it.' 

It  began  to  grow  dark  ;  and  at  the  approach  of 
night  all  creatures  feel  fatigue,  even  the  most  per- 
severing, and  grow  weary  at  last,  even  of  wearying 
others.  The  little  prig  himself  got  tired  of  lecturing  ; 
he  became  silent,  and  at  some  place,  where  we 
changed  horses,  quietly  withdrew. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  underwent  this  sort  of 
thing  ;  I  have  suffered  it  oiten  since,  God  knows  how 
often — so  often,  in  truth,  that  being  once  told  that  it 
was  impossible  accurately  to  define  a  philosopher,  I 
was  provoked  to  answer  :  '  Oh  no  ;  A  philosopher  is 
a  Scotch  clerk  in  a  public  office  in  England  !' 

We  entered  Edinburgh  in  the  dark,  through  mean, 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  387 

narrow  streets,  the  aspect  of  which,  by  the  faint 
light  of  dim  lamps,  ill  accorded  with  the  magnificent 
promises  of  the  splendour  of  the  proud  metropolis 
of  the  whole  earth — of  the  capital  of  social  elegance, 
and  of  perfect  refinement. 

I  remained  for  the  night  at  the  wretched  inn  where 
the  coach  stopped,  for  I  knew  of  no  other,  although 
it  was  a  disgusting  place.  Nobody  appeared  to  re- 
gard me.  I  didn't  understand  what  they  said ; 
neither  could  I  make  the  people  understand  me.  In 
truth,  they  did  not  care  to  know  what  I  wanted. 
However,  I  succeeded,  with  some  difficulty,  in  catch- 
ing hold  of  a  stupid,  red-haired,  bare-necked,  bare- 
footed, dirty  girl,  by  the  arm  ;  I  held  her  fast,  and 
made  her  conduct  me  upstairs  to  a  squalid  little  bed- 
room. When  we  got  there,  she  found  out  what  I 
required  :  another  light,  besides  that  which  she  held 
in  her  hand,  of  a  sudden  broke  upon  her,  and  she 
exclaimed  with  vivacity,  '  Oh  !  you  will  want  a 
chamber.'  I  observed  the  impressions  of  naked  and 
muddy  feet,  of  bare  toes  and  heels,  on  the  hearth 
and  on  the  floor,  but  no  other  traces  of  social  elegance  : 
the  young  wench  was  half  naked,  as  it  was  ;  had  she 
been  stark,  most  assuredly  I  should  not  have  taken 
her  for  one  of  the  three  Graces,  whatever  the  little 
lecturer  might  have  affirmed.  I  took  the  candle  from 
her,  and  she  withdrew,  muttering  some  words  of  her 
sweet  northern  Doric,  which  probably  signified, 
'  Good  night  !'  The  bed  was  less  distasteful  than  the 
chamber.  I  had  passed  thirty  hours,  or  more,  in 
the  open  air,  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  had  travelled 
two  hundred  miles  :  this  was  a  powerful  opiate.  .  .  . 
When  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  it  was  quite  light  :  bell 
there  was  none  ;  calling  out,  however  loud,  was  dis- 

25—2 


388          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

regarded,  my  little  sylph  would  not  come,  nor  would 
any  of  her  fairy  sisters,  if  she  had  any.  I  put  on  my 
clothes,  and  went  downstairs  into  a  common  room, 
an  uncommonly  dirty,  dingy  hole  ;  here  I  procured 
some  breakfast,  which  was  not  so  much  amiss.  I 
then  sallied  forth  to  discover  if  the  rest  of  the  New 
Jerusalem  was  as  mean  and  shabby  as  what  I  had 
already  seen  ;  I  more  than  half  suspected  that  it 
was.  I  soon  emerged  from  the  narrow  streets  ;  and 
then,  O  !  glorious  spectacle,  by  force  of  contrast 
made  still  more  noble,  more  glorious  ;  I  wandered 
about,  lost  in  admiration.  I  ascended  the  Castle- 
hill,  the  Calton-hill,  my  delight  still  increasing. 
Yet  it  was  a  meeting  of  extremes  :  I  beheld  magnifi- 
cence— triumphs  of  art  and  of  nature ;  yet  I  saw 
many  odious  and  revolting  objects,  which  I  had 
never  met  with,  even  in  the  poorest  places  in  England, 
and  which  I  forbear  to  describe. 

Having  at  once  satisfied  and  inflamed  my  curiosity, 
I  began  to  think  of  the  main  purpose  of  my  long 
journey — my  college  friend.  I  had  written  to  him 
that  I  would  join  him  here,  but  I  had  not  given  him 
any  address,  for  I  did  not  know  any,  neither  had  I 
received  a  direction  from  him.  Was  there  a  better, 
a  speedier  course,  than  the  hope  of  a  chance  meet- 
ing in  the  streets  of  a  large  city  ?  I  bethought  me 
of  the  post-office  ;  he  might  have  sent  a  letter  for 
me  thither.  I  was  standing  musing  on  the  bridge 
which  connects  the  New  Town  with  the  Old  :  a  grave, 
white,  middle-aged  man  was  passing.  I  inquired  of 
him  for  the  post-office. 

'  Come  with  me,  I  am  going  there  myself.  You 
are  a  stranger  ?' 

'Yes.' 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  389 

'  You  never  saw  so  fine  a  bridge  before,  as  this  is, 
I  am  very  sure.  It  is  the  finest  in  the  known  world  !' 

'  I  have  seen  a  finer  river ;  one  with  more  water  in  it.' 

He  seemed  much  disconcerted.  I  told  him  how  I 
was  situated. 

'  They  will  give  you  the  address  you  require  at  the 
post-office,  they  are  sure  to  have  it ;  we  will  go  to  the 
post-office  together  ;  but  you  must  first  see  our  new 
University,  as  you  are  a  stranger.' 

We  passed  the  post-office  and  came  to  a  large 
building,  not  only  unfinished,  but  not  in  progress.  It 
appeared  that  the  work  had  ceased  for  want  of  funds. 

'  What  do  you  think  of  that,  sir  ?' 

'  When  it  is  completed  it  will  be  a  very  handsome 
building,  and,  I  dare  say,  very  commodious.' 

'  Not  only  that,  but  if  all  the  buildings  at  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  were  moulded  and  amalgamated 
together  into  one  edifice,  the  effect  would  not  be  the 
same  ;  it  would  be  far  inferior  !' 

I  had  learned  that  it  was  most  discreet  to  be  silent. 
We  returned  to  the  post-office.  There  was  no  letter 
for  me,  but  they  gave  me  my  friend's  address  in 
George  Street.  Whether  he  had  left  it  there  for  me, 
or  for  his  own  letters,  I  did  not  ask. 

'  I  am  going  in  that  direction,  myself.  I  will  point 
out  George  Street  to  you.' 

We  returned  on  our  steps. 

'  That  is  the  Register-Office,'  said  my  kind,  grave 
guide ;  '  it  is  the  finest  building  on  the  habitable  earth.' 

I  looked  him  in  the  face  ;  I  had  wounded  his 
feelings  about  the  bridge,  without  at  all  diminishing 
his  obliging  good-nature. 

'  It  is  universally  acknowledged  to  be  so  !  But  you 
must  see  the  interior  1' 


390          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

We  entered  it ;  it  was  a  handsome  structure 
certainly ;  perhaps  needlessly  large.  We  walked 
along  Princes  Street  together ;  at  the  corner  of  a 
cross  street  he  took  leave  of  me  with  sundry  profound 
and  solemn  bows,  having  previously  pointed  out 
George  Street.  I  soon  set  foot  in  George  Street,  a 
spacious,  noble,  well-built  street ;  but  a  deserted 
street,  or  rather  a  street  which  people  had  not  yet 
come  fully  to  inhabit.  I  soon  found  the  number 
indicated  at  the  post-office  ;  I  have  forgotten  it,  but 
it  was  on  the  left  side — the  side  next  to  Princes  Street. 
I  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  handsome  house ;  it  was 
all  right ;  and  in  a  handsome  front-parlour  I  was 
presently  received  rapturously  by  my  friend.  He 
looked  just  as  he  used  to  look  at  Oxford,  and  as  he 
looked  when  I  saw  him  last  in  April,  in  our  trellised 
apartment  ;  but  now  joyous  at  meeting  again,  not 
as  then  sad  at  parting.  I  also  saw — and  for  the  first 
time — his  lovely  young  bride,  bright  as  the  morning — 
as  the  morning  of  that  bright  day  on  which  we  first 
met  ;  bright,  blooming,  radiant  with  youth,  health, 
and  beauty.  I  was  hailed  triumphantly  by  the  new- 
married  pair  ;  my  arrival  was  more  than  welcome  ; 
they  had  got  my  letter  and  expected  to  rejoice  at 
my  coming  every  moment.  '  We  have  met  at  last 
once  more  !'  Shelley  exclaimed,  '  and  we  will  never 
part  again  !  You  must  have  a  bed  in  the  house  !' 
It  was  deemed  necessary,  indispensable.  At  that 
time  of  life  a  bed  a  mile  or  two  off,  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  would  have  done  as  well :  but  I  must  have 
a  bed  in  the  house.  The  landlord  was  summoned  ;  he 
came  instantly.  A  bed  in  the  house  ;  the  necessity 
was  so  urgent  that  they  did  not  give  him  time  to 
speak.  When  the  poor  man  was  permitted  to  answer, 
he  said,  '  I  have  a  spare  bedroom,  but  it  is  at  the  top 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  391 

of  the  house.  It  may  not  be  quite  so  pleasant.' 
He  conducted  me  up  a  handsome  stone  staircase  of 
easiest  ascent  ;  the  way  was  not  difficult,  but  very 
long.  It  appeared  well  nigh  interminable.  We 
came  at  length  to  an  airy,  spacious  bedroom.  '  This 
will  do  very  well.'  A  stone  staircase  is  handsome  and 
commodious,  and,  in  case  of  fire,  it  must  be  a  valuable 
security  ;  but  whenever  a  door  was  shut  it  thun- 
dered ;  the  thunder  rolled  pealing  for  some  seconds. 
I  was  to  lodge  with  Jupiter  Tonans  at  the  top  of 
Olympus.  Of  all  the  houses  in  London,  with  which 
I  am  acquainted,  those  in  Fitzroy  Square  alone  re- 
mind me,  by  their  sonorous  powers,  of  Edinburgh, 
and  of  the  happy  days  which  I  passed  in  that  beautiful 
city.  On  returning  to  my  friends  our  mutual  greet- 
ings were  repeated  ;  each  had  a  thousand  things  to 
tell  and  to  ask  of  the  rest.  Our  joy  being  a  little 
calmed,  we  agreed  to  walk.  '  We  are  in  the  capital 
of  the  unfortunate  Queen  Mary,'  said  Harriet ;  '  we 
must  see  her  palace  first  of  all.'  We  soon  found 
Holyrood  House.  .  .  .  We  saw  Mary's  bedroom,  the 
stains  of  Rizzio's  blood,  and  all  the  other  relics. 
These  objects,  intrinsically  mean  and  paltry,  greatly 
interested  my  companions,  especially  Harriet,  who 
was  well-read  in  the  sorrowful  history  of  the  unhappy 
queen.  Bysshe  must  go  home  and  write  letters,  I 
was  to  ascend  Arthur's  Seat  with  the  lady.  We 
marched  up  the  steep  hill  boldly,  and  reached  the 
summit.  The  view  may  be  easily  seen,  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe  it.  It  was  a  thousand  pities 
Bysshe  was  not  with  us,  and  then  we  might  remain 
there  ;  one  ought  never  to  quit  so  lovely  a  scene. 

'  Let  us  sit  down ;  probably  when  he  has  finished 
writing  he  will  come  to  us.' 

We  sat  a  long  time,  at  first  gazing  around,  after- 


392          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

wards  we  looked  out  for  the  young  bridegroom,  but 
he  did  not  appear.  It  was  fine  while  we  ascended  ; 
it  was  fine,  sunny,  clear,  and  still,  whilst  we  remained 
on  the  top  ;  but  when  we  began  to  descend,  the  wind 
commenced  blowing.  Harriet  refused  to  proceed ; 
she  sat  down  again  on  the  rock,  and  declared  that 
we  would  remain  there  for  ever  !  For  ever  is  rather 
a  long  time ;  to  sit  until  the  wind  abated  would 
have  been  to  sit  there  quite  long  enough.  Entreaties 
were  in  vain.  I  was  hungry,  for  I  had  not  dined  on 
either  of  the  two  preceding  days.  The  sentence — 
never  to  dine  again — was  a  severe  one,  and  although 
it  was  pronounced  by  the  lips  of  beauty,  I  ventured 
to  appeal  against  it ;  so  I  left  her  and  proceeded 
slowly  down  the  hill,  the  wind  blowing  fresh.  She 
sat  for  some  time  longer,  but  finding  that  I  was  in 
earnest,  she  came  running  down  after  me.  Harriet 
was  always  most  unwilling  to  show  her  ankles,  or 
even  her  feet,  hence  her  reluctance  to  move  in  the 
presence  of  a  rude,  indelicate  wind,  which  did  not 
respect  her  modest  scrupulousness.  If  there  was  not 
much  to  admire  about  these  carefully  concealed 
ankles,  certainly  there  was  nothing  to  blame. 

The  accommodations  at  our  lodgings  in  George 
Street  were  good,  and  the  charges  reasonable  ;  the 
food  was  abundant  and  excellent ;  everything  was 
good,  the  wine  included  :  in  one  particular  only  was 
there  a  deficiency,  the  attendance  was  insufficient, 
except  at  meals,  when  our  landlord  officiated  in 
person.  One  dirty  little  nymph,  by  name  Christie, 
was  the  servant  of  the  house — the  domestic,  she 
was  termed  ;  she  spoke  a  dialect  which  we  could  not 
comprehend,  and  she  was,  for  the  most  part,  unable 
to  understand  what  we  southerns  said  to  her,  or 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  393 

indeed  anything  else,  save  only  perchance  political 
economy  and  metaphysics.  After  ringing  the  well- 
hung  bells  many  times  in  vain,  she  would  suddenly 
open  the  door,  and  exclaiming,  '  Oh  !  The  kittle  !' 
darted  off  to  be  brought  back  again,  after  a  long 
delay,  by  the  like  exertions  and  with  the  like  result. 
Her  sagacity  had  discovered  that  we  drank  much  tea, 
and  therefore  often  required  the  services  of  the  tea- 
kettle. However,  if  she  was  of  no  great  use  to  us, 
the  poor  little  girl  at  least  afforded  us  some  amuse- 
ment. 

Shelley  was  of  an  extreme  sensibility — of  a  morbid 
sensibility — and  strange,  discordant  sounds  he  could 
not  bear  to  hear ;  he  shrank  from  the  unmusical 
voice  of  the  Caledonian  maiden.  Whenever  she 
entered  the  room,  or  even  came  to  the  door,  he  rushed 
wildly  into  a  corner  and  covered  his  ears  with  his 
hands.  We  had,  to  our  shame  be  it  spoken,  a  childish 
mischievous  delight  in  tormenting  him  ;  in  catching 
the  shy  virgin  and  making  her  speak  in  his  presence. 
The  favourite  interrogatory  so  often  administered 
was,  '  Have  you  had  your  dinner  to-day,  Christie  ?' 
'  Yes.'  '  And  what  did  you  get  ?'  '  Sengit  heed  and 
bonnocks,'  was  the  unvarying  answer,  and  its  efficacy 
was  instantaneous  and  sovereign.  Our  poor  sensitive 
poet  assumed  the  air  of  the  Distracted  Musician, 
became  nearly  frantic,  and,  had  we  been  on  the  pro- 
montory, he  would  certainly  have  taken  the  Leu- 
cadian  leap  for  Christie's  sake,  and  to  escape  for  ever 
from  the  rare  music  of  her  voice. 

'  Oh  !  Bysshe,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd  ?  What 
harm  does  the  poor  girl  do  you  ?' 

'  Send  her  away,  Harriet  !  Oh  !  send  her  away ; 
for  God's  sake,  send  her  away  !' 


394          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

On  the  whole,  nothing  could  be  better  than  our 
position  in  George  Street ;  yet  few  things  are  abso- 
lutely perfect  even  in  Scotland,  even  in  Edinburgh 
itself.  It  is  allowable  to  discern  spots  in  the  sun ; 
science,  it  is  believed,  derives  benefit  from  such  dis- 
coveries. .  .  . 

It  was  the  year  of  the  famous  comet,  and  of  the 
still  more  famous  vintage,  the  year  1811 ;  the  weather 
was  fine,  and  often  hot ;  not  one  drop  of  rain  fell 
all  the  time  I  was  in  Edinburgh.  The  nights  were 
clear  and  bright ;  we  often  contemplated  the  stranger 
comet  from  Princes  Street ;  and  not  only  the  comet, 
but  the  ordinary  array  of  the  shining  hosts  of  heaven. 
The  heavens  are  the  home  of  a  divine  poet ;  the 
stars  are  his  nearest  kindred :  Shelley  frequently 
turned  his  wild,  wandering  eyes  homewards  ;  he  was 
fond  of  looking  at  the  stars,  and  of  speculating  about 
the  heavenly  bodies,  and  of  reading  and  hearing  the 
speculations  of  astronomers.  He  had,  however,  a 
leaning,  as  became  a  poet,  towards  the  systems, 
hypotheses,  and  figments  of  the  first  and  ancient 
star-gazers  ;  moreover,  his  attention  had  been  first 
called  towards  celestial  matters  by  his  beloved  Pliny, 
the  greater  part  of  whose  vast  and  inestimable  work 
on  Natural  History  he  had  translated  at  Eton  ;  he 
dearly  loved  to  ponder  over  that  author's  inexplicable 
doctrines,  and  to  endeavour  to  comprehend  and 
expound  them.  .  .  . 

I  soon  found,  to  my  sorrow,  that  my  project  of 
making  pedestrian  excursions  from  Edinburgh  was 
quite  impracticable  ;  my  friend  could  not  possibly 
leave  his  young  bride  alone  :  to  have  gone  by  myself, 
which  I  would  willingly  have  done,  if  I  might,  would 
have  been  unpopular,  being  accounted  unkind  :  the 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  395 

scheme  therefore  was  entirely  relinquished,  although 
not  without  regret ;  and  I  never  could  find  another 
opportunity  of  executing  the  design,  consequently  I 
know  nothing  more  of  Scotland  than  the  little  which 
I  could  learn  during  my  first  and  only  visit  to  its 
majestic  and  picturesque  capital. 

THOMAS    JEFFERSON    HOGG. 


SCOTT'S  HOME  LIFE  IN  EDINBURGH 

ON  the  i2th  of  May,  1818,  Scott  left  Abbotsford,  for 
the  summer  session  in  Edinburgh.  ...  He  at  this 
time  occupied  as  his  den  a  square  small  room,  behind 
the  dining  parlour  in  Castle  Street.  It  had  but  a 
single  Venetian  window,  opening  on  a  patch  of  turf 
not  much  larger,  than  itself,  and  the  aspect  of  the 
place  was  on  the  whole  sombrous.  The  walls  were 
entirely  clothed  with  books  ;  most  of  them  folios  and 
quartos,  and  all  in  that  complete  state  of  repair 
which  at  a  glance  reveals  a  tinge  of  bibliomania.  A 
dozen  volumes  or  so,  needful  for  immediate  pur- 
poses of  reference,  were  placed  close  by  him  on  a 
small  movable  frame — something  like  a  dumb-waiter. 
All  the  rest  were  in  their  proper  niches,  and  wherever 
a  volume  had  been  lent,  its  room  was  occupied  by  a 
wooden  block  of  the  same  size,  having  a  card  with 
the  name  of  the  borrower  and  date  of  the  loan 
tacked  on  its  front.  The  old  bindings  had  obviously 
been  retouched  and  regilt  in  the  most  approved 
manner  ;  the  new,  when  the  works  were  of  any  mark, 
were  rich  but  never  gaudy  —  a  large  proportion  of 
blue  morocco — all  stamped  with  his  device  of  the 
portcullis,  and  its  motto,  Clausus  tutus  ero — being  an 
anagram  of  his  name  in  Latin.  Every  case  and  shelf 


396          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

was  accurately  lettered,  and  the  works  arranged 
systematically ;  history  and  biography  on  one  side, 
poetry  and  the  drama  on  another,  law  books  and 
dictionaries  behind  his  chair.  The  only  table  was  a 
massive  piece  of  furniture  which  he  had  had  con- 
structed on  the  model  of  one  at  Rokeby  ;  with  a  desk 
and  all  its  appurtenances  on  either  side,  that  an 
amanuensis  might  work  opposite  to  him  when  he 
chose  ;  and  with  small  tiers  of  drawers,  reaching  all 
round  to  the  floor.  The  top  displayed  a  goodly  array 
of  session  papers,  and  on  the  desk  below  were, 
besides  the  MS.  at  which  he  was  working,  sundry 
parcels  of  letters,  proof-sheets,  and  so  forth,  all 
neatly  done  up  with  red  tape.  His  own  writing 
apparatus  was  a  very  handsome  old  box,  richly 
carved,  lined  with  crimson  velvet,  and  containing 
ink-bottles,  taper-stand,  etc.,  in  silver,  the  whole 
in  such  order  that  it  might  have  come  from  the 
silversmith's  window  half  an  hour  before.  Besides 
his  own  huge  elbow-chair,  there  were  but  two  others 
in  the  room,  and  one  of  these  seemed,  from  its  posi- 
tion, to  be  reserved  exclusively  for  the  amanuensis. 
I  observed,  during  the  first  evening  I  spent  with  him 
in  this  sanctum,  that  while  he  talked,  his  hands  were 
hardly  ever  idle — sometimes  he  folded  letter-covers — 
sometimes  he  twisted  paper  into  matches,  performing 
both  tasks  with  great  mechanical  expertness  and 
nicety ;  and  when  there  was  no  loose  paper  fit  to  be 
so  dealt  with,  he  snapped  his  fingers,  and  the  noble 
Maida  aroused  himself  from  his  lair  on  the  hearth- 
rug, and  laid  his  head  across  his  master's  knees,  to 
be  caressed  and  fondled.  The  room  had  no  space  for 
pictures  except  one,  an  original  portrait  of  Claver- 
house,  which  hung  over  the  chimneypiece,  with  a 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  397 

Highland  target  on  either  side,  and  broadswords  and 
dirks  (each  having  its  own  story)  disposed  star- 
fashion  round  them.  A  few  green  tin-boxes,  such  as 
solicitors  keep  title-deeds  in,  were  piled  over  each 
other  on  one  side  of  the  window  ;  and  on  the  top  of 
these  lay  a  fox's  tail,  mounted  on  an  antique  silver 
handle,  wherewith,  as  often  as  he  had  occasion  to 
take  down  a  book,  he  gently  brushed  the  dust  off  the 
upper  leaves  before  opening  it.  I  think  I  have 
mentioned  all  the  furniture  of  the  room  except  a 
sort  of  ladder,  low,  broad,  well-carpeted,  and  strongly 
guarded  with  oaken  rails,  by  which  he  helped  himself 
to  books  from  his  higher  shelves.  On  the  top  step 
of  this  convenience,  Hinse  of  Hinsfeldt — (so  called 
from  one  of  the  German  Kinder-mdrcheri) — a  vener- 
able tom-cat,  fat  and  sleek,  and  no  longer  very  loco- 
motive, usually  lay  watching  the  proceedings  of  his 
master  and  Maida  with  an  air  of  dignified  equanimity  ; 
but  when  Maida  chose  to  leave  the  party,  he  signified 
his  inclinations  by  thumping  the  door  with  his  huge 
paw,  as  violently  as  ever  a  fashionable  footman 
handled  a  knocker  in  Grosvenor  Square  ;  the  Sheriff 
rose  and  opened  it  for  him  with  courteous  alacrity, 
and  then  Hinse  came  down  purring  from  his  perch, 
and  mounted  guard  by  the  footstool,  vice  Maida 
absent  upon  furlough.  Whatever  discourse  might 
be  passing,  was  broken  every  now  and  then  by  some 
affectionate  apostrophe  to  these  four-footed  friends. 
He  said  they  understood  everything  he  said  to  them, 
and  I  believe  they  did  understand  a  great  deal  of 

it 

Scott  managed  to  give  and  receive  great  dinners, 
...  at  least  as  often  as  any  other  private  gentleman 
in  Edinburgh  ;  but  he  very  rarely  accompanied  his 


398          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

wife  and  daughters  to  the  evening  assemblies,  which 
commonly  ensued  under  other  roofs — for  early  to  rise, 
unless  in  the  case  of  spare-fed  anchorites,  takes  for 
granted  early  to  bed.  When  he  had  no  dinner  engage- 
ment, he  frequently  gave  a  few  hours  to  the  theatre  ; 
but  still  more  frequently,  when  the  weather  was 
fine,  and  still  more,  I  believe,  to  his  own  satisfaction, 
he  drove  out  with  some  of  his  family,  or  a  single 
friend,  in  an  open  carriage  ;  the  favourite  rides  being 
either  to  the  Blackford  Hills,  or  to  Ravelston,  and 
so  home  by  Corstorphine  ;  or  to  the  beach  of  Porto- 
bello,  where  Peter  was  always  instructed  to  keep  his 
horses  as  near  as  possible  to  the  sea.  More  than 
once,  even  in  the  first  summer  of  my  acquaintance 
with  him,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  accompanying 
him  on  these  evening  excursions ;  and  never  did 
he  seem  to  enjoy  himself  more  fully  than  when 
placidly  surveying,  at  such  sunset  or  moonlight 
hours,  either  the  massive  outlines  of  his  '  own 
romantic  town,'  or  the  tranquil  expanse  of  its  noble 
estuary.  He  delighted,  too,  in  passing,  when  he 
could,  through  some  of  the  quaint  windings  of 
the  ancient  town  itself,  now  deserted,  except  at  mid- 
day, by  the  upper  world.  How  often  have  I  seen 
him  go  a  long  way  round  about  rather  than  miss 
the  opportunity  of  halting  for  a  few  minutes  on  the 
vacant  esplanade  of  Holyrood,  or  under  the  darkest 
shadows  of  the  Castle  rock,  where  it  overhangs 
the  Grassmarket,  and  the  huge  slab  that  still 
marks  where  the  gibbet  of  Porteous  and  the  Cove- 
nanters had  its  station.  His  coachman  knew  him 
too  well  to  move  at  a  Jehu's  pace  amidst  such  scenes 
as  these.  No  funeral  hearse  crept  more  leisurely 
than  did  his  landau  up  the  Canongate  or  the  Cow- 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  399 

gate  ;  and  not  a  queer  tottering  gable  but  recalled 
to  him  some  long-buried  memory  of  splendour  or 
bloodshed,  which,  by  a  few  words,  he  set  before  the 
hearer  in  the  reality  of  life.  .  .  . 

Whatever  might  happen  on  the  other  evenings  of 
the  week,  Scott  always  dined  at  home  on  Sunday, 
and  usually  some  few  friends  were  then  with  him,  but 
never  any  person  with  whom  he  stood  on  ceremony. 
These  were,  it  may  be  readily  supposed,  the  most 
agreeable  of  his  entertainments.  He  came  into  the 
room  rubbing  his  hands,  his  face  bright  and  glee- 
some,  like  a  boy  arriving  at  home  for  the  holidays, 
his  Peppers  and  Mustards  gambolling  about  his 
heels,  and  even  the  stately  Maida  grinning  and 
wagging  his  tail  in  sympathy.  .  .  . 

The  sound  of  music — (even,  I  suspect,  of  any 
sacred  music  but  psalm-singing) — would  be  con- 
sidered indecorous  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  on  a 
Sunday  night ;  so,  upon  the  occasions  I  am  speaking 
of,  the  harp  was  silent,  and  Otterburne  and  The  Bonnie 
House  of  Airlie  must  needs  be  dispensed  with.  To 
make  amends,  after  tea  in  the  drawing-room,  Scott 
usually  read  some  favourite  author  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  his  little  circle  ;  or  Erskine,  Ballantyne,  or 
Terry  did  so,  at  his  request.  He  himself  read  aloud 
high  poetry  with  far  greater  simplicity,  depth,  and 
effect,  than  any  other  man  I  ever  heard  ;  and,  in 
Macbeth  or  Julius  C&sar,  or  the  like,  I  doubt  if 
Kemble  could  have  been  more  impressive.  .  .  . 

39,  Castle  Street,  June  18,  1823. — '  Miss  Edge- 
worth  is  at  present  the  great  lioness  of  Edinburgh, 
and  a  very  nice  lioness  ;  she  is  full  of  fun  and  spirit  ; 
a  little  slight  figure,  very  active  in  her  motions,  very 
good-humoured,  and  full  of  enthusiasm.  .  .  . 


400          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

February  i^th,  1826. — '  I  have  not  seen  a  creature 
at  dinner  since  the  direful  lyth  of  January,  except  my 
own  family  and  Mr.  Laidlaw.  The  love  of  solitude 
increases  by  indulgence  ;  I  hope  it  will  not  diverge 
into  misanthropy.  It  does  not  mend  the  matter 
that  this  is  the  first  day  that  a  ticket  for  sale  is  on 
my  house,  poor  No.  39.  One  gets  accustomed  even  to 
stone  walls,  and  the  place  suited  me  very  well.  All  our 
furniture,  too,  is  to  go — a  hundred  little  articles  that 
seemed  to  me  connected  with  all  the  happier  years 
of  my  life.  It  is  a  sorry  business.  But  sursum  corda. 

February  i6th,  1826. — '  "  Misfortune's  growling 
bark  "  comes  louder  and  louder. 

March  ist,  1826. — '  Looked  out  a  quantity  of  things, 
to  go  to  Abbotsford ;  for  we  are  flitting,  if  you 
please.  It  is  with  a  sense  of  pain  that  I  leave 
behind  a  parcel  of  trumpery  prints  and  little  orna- 
ments, once  the  pride  of  Lady  S 's  heart,  but 

which  she  sees  consigned  with  indifference  to  the 
chance  of  an  auction.  Things  that  have  had  their 
day  of  importance  with  me  I  cannot  forget,  though 
the  merest  trifles.  .  .  . 

March  i$th,  1826. — '  This  morning  I  leave  No.  39, 
Castle  Street,  for  the  last  time.  "  The  cabin  was 
convenient,"  and  habit  had  made  it  agreeable  to 
me.  I  never  reckoned  upon  a  change  in  this  par- 
ticular so  long  as  I  held  an  office  in  the  Court  of 
Session.  In  all  my  former  changes  of  residence  it 
was  from  good  to  better  ;  this  is  retrograding.  I 
leave  this  house  for  sale,  and  I  cease  to  be  an  Edin- 
burgh citizen,  in  the  sense  of  being  a  proprietor, 
which  my  father  and  I  have  been  for  sixty  years  at 
least.  So  farewell,  poor  39,  and  may  you  never 
harbour  worse  people  than  those  who  now  leave  you. 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  401 

Not  to  desert  the  Lares  all  at  once,  Lady  S.  and 
Anne  remain  till  Sunday.  As  for  me,  I  go,  as  afore- 
said, this  morning. 

'"Hatilmitulidh!"* 

'  So  farewell,  poor  No.  39.  What  a  portion  of  my 
life  has  been  spent  there  !  It  has  sheltered  me  from 
the  prime  of  life  to  its  decline  ;  and  now  I  must  bid 
good-bye  to  it.  I  have  bid  good-bye  to  my  poor 
wife,  so  long  its  courteous  and  kind  mistress,  and  I 
need  not  care  about  the  empty  rooms  ;  yet  it  gives 
me  a  turn.  Never  mind  ;  all  in  the  day's  work.' 

LOCKH ART'S  Life  of  Scott. 

CRABBE 

IT  was  during  the  last  of  my  father's  very  active 
seasons  in  London,  1822,  that  he  had  the  satisfaction 
of  meeting  with  Sir  Walter  Scott ;  and  the  baronet, 
who  was  evidently  much  affected  on  seeing  Crabbe, 
would  not  part  with  him  until  he  had  promised  to 
visit  him  in  Scotland  the  ensuing  autumn.  But  I 
much  regret  that  the  invitation  was  accepted  for  that 
particular  occasion ;  for,  as  it  happened,  the  king 
fixed  on  the  same  time  for  his  northern  progress'; 
and,  instead  of  finding  Sir  Walter  in  his  own  mansion 
in  the  country,  when  Crabbe  reached  Scotland,  in 
August,  the  family  had  all  repaired  to  Edinburgh, 
to  be  present  amidst  a  scene  of  bustle  and  festivity 
little  favourable  to  the  sort  of  intercourse  with  a 
congenial  mind,  to  which  he  had  looked  forward  with 
such  pleasing  anticipations.  He  took  up  his  residence, 
however,  in  Sir  Walter's  house  in  North  Castle  Street, 
Edinburgh,  and  was  treated  by  him  and  all  his  con- 

*  '  I  return  no  more.' 

26 


402          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

nections  with  the  greatest  kindness,  respect,  and 
attention  ;  and  though  the  baronet's  time  was  much 
occupied  with  the  business  of  the  royal  visit,  and  he 
had  to  dine  almost  daily  at  his  majesty's  table,  still 
my  father  had  an  opportunity  not  to  be  undervalued 
of  seeing  what  was  to  him  an  aspect  of  society  wholly 
new.  The  Highlanders,  in  particular,  their  language, 
their  dress,  and  their  manners  were  contemplated 
with  exceeding  interest.  I  am  enabled  by  the  kindness 
of  one  of  my  father's  friends  to  offer  some  extracts 
from  a  short  journal,  which  he  kept  for  her  amuse- 
ment during  his  stay  in  the  northern  metropolis  : — 

'  Whilst  it  is  fresh  in  my  memory  I  should  describe 
the  day  which  I  have  just  passed,  but  I  do  not  believe 
an  accurate  description  to  be  possible.  What  avails 
it  to  say,  for  instance,  that  there  met  at  the  sumptuous 
dinner,  in  all  the  costume  of  the  Highlanders,  the 
great  chief  himself  and  officers  of  his  company.  This 
expresses  not  the  singularity  of  appearance  and 
manners — the  peculiarities  of  men,  all  gentlemen,  but 
remote  from  our  society — leaders  of  clans — joyous 
company.  Then  we  had  Sir  Walter  Scott's  national 
songs  and  ballads,  exhibiting  all  the  feelings  of 
clanship.  I  thought  it  an  honour  that  Glengarry 
even  took  notice  of  me,  for  there  were  those,  and 
gentlemen,  too,  who  considered  themselves  honoured 
by  following  in  his  train.  There  were  also,  Lord 
Enrol,  and  the  Macleod,  and  the  Frazer,  and  the 
Gordon,  and  the  Ferguson  ;  and  I  conversed  at  dinner 
with  Lady  Glengarry,  and  did  almost  believe  myself 
a  harper,  or  bard,  rather — for  harp  I  cannot  strike — 
and  Sir  Walter  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  whole. 
It  was  a  splendid  festivity,  and  I  felt  I  know  not  how 
much  younger. 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  403 

'  I  went  to  the  palace  of  Holyrood  House,  and  was 
much  interested ;  the  rooms,  indeed,  did  not  affect 
me, — the  old  tapestry  was  such  as  I  had  seen  before, 
and  I  did  not  much  care  about  the  leather  chairs, 
with  three  legs  each,  nor  the  furniture,  except  in  one 
room — that  where  Queen  Mary  slept.  The  bed  has 
a  canopy  very  rich,  but  time-stained.  We  went  into 
the  little  room  where  the  Queen  and  Rizzio  sat,  when 
his  murderers  broke  in  and  cut  him  down  as  he 
struggled  to  escape :  they  show  certain  stains  on  the 
floor  ;  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  believe 
them  made  by  his  blood,  if  you  can. 

'  Edinburgh  is  really  a  very  interesting  place, — to 
me  very  singular.  How  can  I  describe  the  view  from 
the  hill  that  overlooks  the  palace  ;  the  fine  group  of 
buildings  which  form  the  castle  ;  the  bridges,  uniting 
the  two  towns  ;  and  the  beautiful  view  of  the  Firth 
and  its  islands  ? 

'  But  Sunday  came,  and  the  streets  were  forsaken  ; 
and  silence  reigned  over  the  whole  city.  London  has 
a  diminished  population  on  that  day  in  her  streets  ; 
but  in  Edinburgh  it  is  a  total  stagnation — a  quiet  that 
is  in  itself  devout. 

'  A  long  walk  through  divers  streets,  lanes,  and 
alleys,  up  to  the  Old  Town,  makes  me  better  ac- 
quainted with  it ;  a  lane  of  cobblers  struck  me  par- 
ticularly ;  and  I  could  not  but  remark  the  civility 
and  urbanity  of  the  Scotch  poor  ;  they  certainly  exceed 
ours  in  politeness,  arising,  probably,  from  minds  more 
generally  cultivated. 

'  This  day  I  dined  with  Mr.  Mackenzie,  the  Man 
of  Feeling,  as  he  is  commonly  called.  He  has  not  the 
manner  you  would  expect  from  his  works  ;  but  a  rare 
sportsman,  still  enjoying  the  relation  of  a  good  day, 

26 — 2 


404          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

though  only  the  ghost  of  the  pleasure  remains.  What 
a  discriminating  and  keen  man  is  my  friend  ;  and  I 
am  disposed  to  think  highly  of  his  son-in-law,  Mr. 
Lockhart — of  his  heart — his  understanding  will  not 
be  disputed  by  anyone.' 

At  the  table  of  Mr.  Lockhart,  with  whom  Crabbe 
commonly  dined  when  Sir  Walter  was  engaged  to 
the  King,  he  one  day  sat  down  with  three  of  the 
supposed  writers  or  symposiasts  of  the  inimitable 
Nodes  Ambrosiana  ;  namely,  his  host  himself,  the 
far-famed  Professor  Wilson,  whom  he  termed  '  that 
extraordinary  man,'  and  the  honest  Shepherd  of 
Ettrick,  who  amused  him  much  by  calling  for  a 
can  of  ale,  while  champagne  and  claret,  and  other 
choice  wines  were  in'  full  circulation.  .  .  . 

Before  he  retired  at  night,  he  had  generally  the 
pleasure  of  half  an  hour's  confidential  conversation 
with  Sir  Walter,  when  he  spoke  occasionally  of  the 
Waverley  Novels — though  not  as  compositions  of 
his  own,  for  that  was  yet  a  secret — but  without 
reserve  upon  all  other  subjects  in  which  they  had  a 
common  interest.  These  were  evenings  ! 

'  It  is  true,'  writes  Lockhart,  '  that  in  consequence 
of  Sir  Walter's  being  constantly  consulted  about  the 
details  of  every  procession  and  festival  of  that  busy 
fortnight,  the  pleasing  task  of  showing  Crabbe  the 
usual  lions  of  Edinburgh  fell  principally  to  my 
share.  .  .  .  The  literary  persons  in  company  with 
whom  I  saw  him  most  frequently  were  Sir  Walter 
and  Henry  Mackenzie ;  and  between  two  such 
thorough  men  of  the  world  as  they  were,  perhaps  his 
apparent  simplicity  of  look  and  manners  struck  one 
more  than  it  might  have  done  under  different  circum- 
stances :  but  all  three  harmonized  admirably  together. 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  405 

Crabbe's  avowed  ignorance  about  Gaels,  and  clans, 
and  tartans,  and  everything  that  was  at  the  moment 
uppermost  in  Sir  Walter's  thoughts,  furnishing  him 
with  a  welcome  apology  for  dilating  on  such  topics 
with  enthusiastic  minuteness,  while  Crabbe's  coun- 
tenance spoke  the  quiet  delight  he  felt  in  opening 
his  imagination  to  what  was  really  a  new  world,  and 
the  venerable  "  Man  of  Feeling,"  though  a  fiery 
Highlander  himself  at  bottom,  had  the  satisfaction 
of  lying  by  and  listening  until  some  opportunity 
offered  itself  of  hooking  it,  between  the  links,  perhaps, 
of  some  grand  chain  of  poetical  imagery,  some  small 
comic  or  sarcastic  trait,  which  Sir  Walter  caught  up, 
played  with,  and,  with  that  art  so  peculiarly  his  own, 
forced  into  the  service  of  the  very  impression  it 
seemed  meant  to  disturb.  .  .  .  Crabbe  seemed  to  ad- 
mire, like  other  people,  the  grand  natural  scenery 
about  Edinburgh  ;  but  when  I  walked  with  him  to 
the  Salisbury  Crags,  where  the  superb  view  had  then 
a  lively  foreground  of  tents  and  batteries,  he  appeared 
to  be  more  interested  with  the  stratification  of  the 
rocks  about  us  than  with  any  other  feature  in  the 
landscape.  As  to  the  city  itself,  he  said  he  soon  got 
weary  of  the  New  Town,  but  could  amuse  himself 
for  ever  in  the  Old  one.  He  was  more  than  once 
detected  rambling  after  nightfall  by  himself,  among 
some  of  the  obscurest  wynds  and  closes  ;  and  Sir 
Walter,  fearing  that,  at  a  time  of  such  confusion,  he 
might  get  into  some  scene  of  trouble,  took  the  pre- 
caution of  desiring  a  friendly  caddie,  from  the  corner 
of  Castle  Street,  to  follow  him  the  next  time  he  went 
out  alone  in  the  evening.' 

Life  of  Crabbe,  by  HIS  SON. 


4o6          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL 

WHEN  the  author  of  The  Pleasures  of  Hope  went  to 
Edinburgh,  his  friend  Hamilton  Paul  said  to  him, 
'  Thomas",  I  see  from  the  way  poetry  is  coming  upon 
you,  that  whatever  other  profession  you  try,  it  will 
be  the  one  through  which  you  will  be  most  distin- 
guished in  the  world.'  It  is  probable,  indeed  most 
certain,  that  the  rough  copy  of  The  Pleasures  of  Hope 
yet  existing  in  manuscript,  was  all  that  the  poet 
brought  to  Edinburgh.  .  .  .  That  he  must  have  well 
employed  his  residence  in  Edinburgh  is  hardiy 
doubtful.  Few  anecdotes  of  him  made  public  relate 
to  that  time.  It  appears,  that  while  there  he  was 
much  given  to  solitude.  He  was  often  seen  wandering 
alone  over  bridge  or  in  the  vicinity  of  the  city, 
perhaps  mentally  working  up  the  verses  of  his  poem, 
and  nurturing  flattering  visions  of  the  future.  At 
times  he  went  saunteringly  along,  unobservant  of  all 
around  him.  ...  As  a  literary  critic,  Dr.  Anderson 
was  distinguished  by  a  warm  and  honest  sensibility 
to  the  beauties  of  poetry,  and  by  extreme  candour. 
His  character  was  marked  by  the  most  urbane 
manners,  the  most  honourable  probity  in  his  dealings, 
and  by  unshaken  constancy  in  friendship.  He  was 
an  encouraging  friend  to  young  writers,  and  to  him 
the  author  of  The  Pleasures  of  Hope,  who  was  long 
and  mutually  attached  to  him,  dedicated  his  first 
production.  This  is,  at  least,  declaratory  of  the 
poet's  recollection  of  past  obligations,  of  which  he 
was  never  unmindful  to  show  his  acknowledgment, 
when  they  occurred  to  him,  for  it  is  necessary  to  premise 
this.  ...  No  man  existing  had  a  better  heart,  or  was 
more  ready  to  perform  a  friendly  action.  He  spoke 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  407 

in  the  kindest  manner  of  Dugald  Stewart,  too,  who 
was  one  of  his  first  Edinburgh  acquaintance.  .  .  . 
Dr.  Anderson  introduced  young  Campbell  to  the  best 
Edinburgh  society,  among  which  were  Jeffrey, 
Brougham,  and  one  of  his  earliest  and  best  friends, 
Mr.  Thompson  of  Clithero.  There,  too,  Campbell 
found  an  old  friend  in  Grahame,  author  of  The 
Sabbath,  whom  he  had  known  in  Glasgow.  At  this 
time  he  seems  to  have  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Scott.  Lockhart  states  as  much,  and  that  Scott  was 
amongst  the  foremost  to  welcome  him  to  Edin- 
burgh. .  .  .  Returning,  after  an  absence,  the  poet 
became  for  a  time  the  lion  of  Edinburgh. 

'  The  last  time  I  saw  you,'  said  a  lady  of  advanced 
age,  to  the  poet,  '  was  in  Edinburgh,  when  you  were 
swaggering  about  in  a  Suwarrow  jacket.' 

'  Yes,'  replied  Campbell, '  I  was  then  a  contemptible 
puppy.' 

'  But  that  was  thirty  years  ago  and  more,'  she 
remarked. 

'  Whist,  whist !'  said  Campbell,  '  it  is  unfair  to 
reveal  both  our  puppyism  and  our  years.  .  .  .' 

I  remember  be  dwelt  [in  later  years]  even  with 
pathos,  upon  recollections  of  his  early  life,  as  I  never 
heard  him  do  before,  for  he  was  exceedingly  reserved 
about  all  that  related  to  his  personal  feelings,  as  if 
he  would  fain  have  it  thought  he  was  indifferent  to 
that  which  most  affected  mankind  in  general.  He 
spoke  of  calling  upon  some  friends  in  Edinburgh,  and 
of  Professor  Wilson,  who  was  not  at  home  when  he 
came  through.  He  spoke  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and 
of  hearing  that  he  was  not  in  as  good  health  as  every- 
body wished ;  of  the  continued  changes  he  observed 
in  the  Scottish  capital,  to  which  he  expressed  a  great 


408          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

attachment,  and  wound  up  all  by  remarking  that  he 
thought  the  locality  of  a  vast  city  like  London  had 
this  recommendation  in  its  favour,  that  it  made 
personal  changes  less  visible,  and  buried  in  its  per- 
petual round  of  bustle  and  anxiety  the  acuteness  of 
those  feelings  which  in  the  country,  from  their  causes 
being  continually  present,  were  sure  to  be  prolonged 
to  no  good  end.  What  did  it  matter,  we  ran  the  same 
inevitable  round  towards  age,  less  perceptibly  in 
London  than  in  the  country  ;  here 

'  Tempora  labunter,  tacitis  que  senescimus  annis,' 

it  was  some  consideration  not  to  have  the  continued 
observation  of  it  before  our  eyes. 

CYRUS   REDDING. 
SAMUEL  ROGERS  :  HIS  EDINBURGH  MEMORIES 

WHEN  a  young  man,  I  went  to  Edinburgh,  carrying 
letters  of  introduction  ...  to  Adam  Smith,  Robertson, 
and  others.  When  I  first  saw  Smith,  he  was  at 
breakfast,  eating  strawberries  ;  and  he  descanted  on 
the  superior  flavour  of  those  grown  in  Scotland.  I 
found  him  very  kind  and  communicate.  He  was 
(what  Robertson  was  not)  a  man  who  had  seen  a  great 
deal  of  the  world.  Once,  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, I  happened  to  remark  of  some  writer,  that  '  he 
was  rather  superficial, — a  Voltaire.' — '  Sir,'  cried 
Smith,  striking  the  table  with  his  hand,  '  there  has 
been  but  one  Voltaire  !' 

Robertson,  too,  was  very  kind  to  me.  He,  one 
morning,  spread  out  the  map  of  Scotland  on  the 
floor,  and  got  upon  his  knees,  to  describe  the  route  I 
ought  to  follow  in  making  a  tour  on  horseback 
through  the  Highlands. 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  409 

At  Edinburgh  I  became  acquainted  with  Henry 
Mackenzie,  who  asked  me  to  correspond  with  him  ; 
which  I  (then  young,  romantic,  and  an  admirer  of 
his  Julia  de  Roubigne)  willingly  agreed  to.  ... 

The  most  memorable  day,  perhaps,  which  I  ever 
passed  was  at  Edinburgh, — a  Sunday ;  when,  after 
breakfasting  with  Robertson,  I  heard  him  preach 
in  the  forenoon,  and  Blair  in  the  afternoon,  then  took 
coffee  with  the  Piozzis,  and  supped  with  Adam 
Smith.  Robertson's  sermon  was  excellent  both  for 
matter  and  manner  of  delivery.  Blair's  was  good 
but  less  impressive  ;  and  his  broad  Scotch  accent 
offended  my  ears  greatly. 

My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Piozzi  began 
at  Edinburgh,  being  brought  about  by  the  landlord 
of  the  hotel  where  they  and  I  were  staying.  He 
thought  that  I  should  be  gratified  by  hearing  '  Mr. 
Piozzi 's  pianoforte  '  :  and  they  called  upon  me,  on 
hearing  from  the  landlord  who  I  was,  and  that  Adam 
Smith,  Robertson,  and  Mackenzie  had  left  cards  for  me. 

SAMUEL  ROGERS. 

ROBERT  FERGUSSON 
'  Of  Fergusson,  the  bauld  and  slee.' — BURNS. 

I  COULD  once  reckon  among  my  dearest  and  most 
familiar  friends,  Robert  Burns  and  Robert  Fergus- 
son.  .  .  .  Youth  is  the  season  of  warm  friendships 
and  romantic  wishes  and  hopes.  We  say  of  the 
child,  in  its  first  attempts  to  totter  along  the  wall, 
or  when  it  has  first  learned  to  rise  beside  its  mother's 
knee,  that  it  is  yet  too  weak  to  stand  alone ;  and  we 
may  employ  the  same  language  in  describing  a  young 
and  ardent  mind.  It  is,  like  the  child,  too  weak  to 


410          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

stand  alone,  and  anxiously  seeks  out  some  kindred 
mind  on  which  to  lean.  I  had  had  my  intimates  at 
school,  who,  though  of  no  superior  cast,  had  served 
me,  if  I  may  so  speak,  as  resting-places,  when  wearied 
with  my  studies,  or  when  I  had  exhausted  my  lighter 
reading  ;  and  now,  at  St.  Andrews,  where  I  knew 
no  one,  I  began  to  experience  the  unhappiness  of 
an  unsatisfied  sociality.  .  .  .  Among  the  students  of 
the  upper  classes,  however,  there  was  at  least  one 
individual  with  whom  I  longed  to  be  acquainted.  He 
was  apparently  much  about  my  own  age,  rather 
below  than  above  the  middle  size,  and  rather  deli- 
cately than  robustly  formed  ;  but  I  have  rarely  seen 
a  more  elegant  figure  or  more  interesting  face.  His 
features  were  small,  and  there  was  what  might  per- 
haps be  deemed  a  too  feminine  delicacy  in  the  whole 
contour  ;  but  there  was  a  broad  and  very  high  ex- 
pansion of  forehead,  which,  even  in  those  days,  when 
we  were  acquainted  with  only  the  phrenology  taught 
by  Plato,  might  be  regarded  as  the  index  of  a  capa- 
cious and  powerful  mind  ;  and  the  brilliant  light  of  his 
large  lack  eyes  seemed  to  give  earnest  of  its  activity. 

'  Who,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  is  that  ?'  I  inquired 
of  a  class-fellow,  as  this  interesting-looking  young 
man  passed  me  for  the  first  time. 

'  A  clever,  but  very  unsettled  fellow  from  Edin- 
burgh,' replied  the  lad  ;  '  a  capital  linguist,  for  he 
gained  our  first  bursary  three  years  ago  ;  but  our  Pro- 
fessor says  he  is  certain  he  will  never  do  any  good.  He 
cares  nothing  for  the  company  of  scholars  like  himself ; 
and  employs  himself — though  he  excels,  I  believe,  in 
English  composition — in  writing  vulgar  Scotch  rhymes, 
like  Allan  Ramsay.  His  name  is  Robert  Fergusson.' 

I  felt,  from  this  moment,  a  strong  desire  to  rank 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  411 

among  the  friends  of  one  who  cared  nothing  for  the 
company  of  such  men  as  my  class-fellow,  and  who, 
though  acquainted  with  the  literature  of  England 
and  Rome,  could  dwell  with  interest  on  the  simple 
poetry  of  his  native  country. 

There  is  no  place  in  the  neighbourhood  of  St. 
Andrews  where  a  leisure  hour  may  be  spent  more 
agreeably  than  among  the  ruins  of  the  Cathedral. 
I  was  not  slow  in  discovering  the  eligibilities  of  the 
spot  ;  and  it  soon  became  one  of  my  favourite  haunts. 
One  evening,  a  few  weeks  after  I  had  entered  on  my 
course  at  college,  I  had  seated  myself  among  the 
ruins  in  a  little  ivied  nook  fronting  the  setting  sun, 
and  was  deeply  engaged  with  the  melancholy  Jaques 
in  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  when,  on  hearing  a  light 
footstep,  I  looked  up,  and  saw  the  Edinburgh  student 
whose  appearance  had  so  interested  me,  not  four 
yards  away.  He  was  busied  with  his  pencil  and  his 
tablets,  and  muttering,  as  he  went,  in  a  half  audible 
voice,  what,  from  the  inflection  of  the  tones,  seemed 
to  be  verse.  On  seeing  me,  he  started,  and  apolo- 
gizing, in  a  few  hurried  but  courteous  words,  for  what 
he  termed  the  involuntary  intrusion,  would  have 
passed  ;  but,  on  my  rising  and  stepping  up  to  him, 
he  stood.  .  .  .  We  quitted  the  ruins  together,  and 
went  sauntering  along  the  shore.  There  was  a  rich 
sunset  glow  on  the  water,  and  the  hills  that  rise  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Firth  stretched  their  undu- 
lating line  of  azure  under  a  gorgeous  canopy  of 
crimson  and  gold.  My  companion  pointed  to  the 
scene  :  '  These  glorious  clouds,'  he  said,  '  are  but 
wreaths  of  vapour ;  and  these  lovely  hills,  accumula- 
tions of  earth  and  stone.  And  it  is  thus  with  the  past 
— with  the  past  of  our  own  little  histories,  that 


412          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

borrows  so  much  of  its  golden  beauty  from  the  medium 
through  which  we  survey  it — with  the  past,  too,  of 
all  history.  There  is  poetry  in  the  remote  ;  the  bleak 
hill  seems  a  darker  firmament,  and  the  chill  wreath 
of  vapour  a  river  of  fire.  . .  .'  We  walked  out  together 
[again]  in  the  direction  of  the  ruins  :  the  evening  was 
calm  and  mild  as  when  I  had  walked  out  on  the 
preceding  one  ;  but  the  hour  was  earlier,  and  the  sun 
hung  higher  over  the  hill.  A  newly  formed  grave  occu- 
pied the  level  spot  in  front  of  the  little  ivied  corner. 

'  Let  us  seat  ourselves  here,'  said  my  companion, 
'  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story — I  am  afraid  a  rather 
tame  one ;  for  there  is  nothing  of  adventure  in  it, 
and  nothing  of  incident ;  but  it  may  at  least  show 
you  that  I  am  not  unfitted  to  be  your  friend.  It  is 
now  nearly  two  years  since  I  lost  my  father.  He 
was  no  common  man — common  neither  in  intellect 
nor  in  sentiment ;  but  though  he  once  fondly  hoped  it 
should  be  otherwise — for  in  early  youth  he  indulged 
in  all  the  dreams  of  the  poet — he  now  fills  a  grave 
as  nameless  as  the  one  before  us.  He  was  a  native 
of  Aberdeenshire ;  but  held,  latterly,  an  inferior 
situation  in  the  office  of  the  British  Linen  Company  in 
Edinburgh,  where  I  was  born.  Ever  since  I  remember 
him,  he  had  awakened  too  fully  to  the  realities  of 
life,  and  they  pressed  too  hard  on  his  spirits  to  leave 
him  space  for  the  indulgence  of  his  earlier  fancies  ; 
but  he  could  dream  for  his  children,  though  not  for 
himself ;  or,  as  I  should  perhaps  rather  say,  his 
children  fell  heir  to  all  his  more  juvenile  hopes  of 
fortune,  and  influence,  and  space  in  the  world's  eye ; 
and,  for  himself,  he  indulged  in  hopes  of  a  later 
growth  and  firmer  texture,  which  pointed  from  the 
present  scene  of  things  to  the  future.  I  have  an  only 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  413 

brother,  my  senior  by  several  years,  a  lad  of  much 
energy,  both  physical  and  mental ;  in  brief,  one  of 
those  mixtures  of  reflection  and  activity  which  seem 
best  formed  for  rising  in  the  world.  My  father 
deemed  him  most  fitted  for  commerce,  and  had 
influence  enough  to  get  him  introduced  into  the 
counting-house  of  a  respectable  Edinburgh  merchant. 
I  was  always  of  a  graver  turn — in  part,  perhaps,  the 
effect  of  less  robust  health — and  me  he  intended  for 
the  Church.  I  have  been  a  dreamer,  Mr.  Lindsay, 
from  my  earliest  years — prone  to  melancholy,  and 
fond  of  books  and  of  solitude  ;  and  the  peculiarities 
of  this  temperament  the  sanguine  old  man,  though 
no  mean  judge  of  character,  had  mistaken  for  a  serious 
and  reflective  disposition.  You  are  acquainted  with 
literature,  and  know  something,  from  books  at  least, 
of  the  lives  of  literary  men.  Judge,  then,  of  his 
prospect  of  usefulness  in  any  profession,  who  has  lived, 
ever  since  he  knew  himself,  among  the  poets.  My 
hopes,  from  my  earliest  years,  have  been  hopes  of  cele- 
brity as  a  writer  ;  not  of  wealth,  or  of  influence,  or  ol 
accomplishing  any  of  the  thousand  aims  which  furnish 
the  great  bulk  of  mankind  with  motives.  You  will 
laugh  at  me.  There  is  something  so  emphatically 
shadowy  and  unreal  in  the  object  of  this  ambition, 
that  even  the  full  attainment  of  it  provokes  a  smile.  .  .  .' 
I  visited  Edinburgh  in  the  latter  part  of  the  autumn 
of  1773.  ...  It  was  a  fine  calm  morning,  one  of 
those  clear  sunshiny  mornings  of  October,  when  the 
gossamer  goes  sailing  about  in  long  cottony  threads, 
so  light  and  fleecy  that  they  seem  the  skeleton 
remains  of  extinct  cloudlets  ;  and  when  the  distant 
hills,  with  their  covering  of  grey  frost  rime,  seem, 
through  the  clear  cold  atmosphere,  as  if  chiselled  in 


414          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

marble.  The  sun  was  rising  over  the  town  through 
a  deep  blood-coloured  haze — the  smoke  of  a  thousand 
fires  ;  and  the  huge  fantastic  piles  of  masonry  that 
stretched  along  the  ridge  looked  dim  and  spectral 
through  the  cloud  like  the  ghosts  of  an  army  of 
giants.  I  felt  half  a  foot  taller  as  I  strode  on  towards 
the  town.  It  was  Edinburgh  I  was  approaching — 
the  scene  of  so  many  proud  associations  to  a  lover  of 
Scotland  ;  and  I  was  going  to  meet  as  an  early  friend 
one  of  the  first  of  Scottish  poets.  I  entered  the  town. 
There  was  a  bookstall  in  a  corner  of  the  street ;  and 
I  turned  aside  for  half  a  minute  to  glance  my  eye  over 
the  books. 

'  Fergusson's  Poems  !'  I  exclaimed,  taking  up  a 
little  volume. 

I  again  set  foot  in  Edinburgh.  Alas  !  for  my  un- 
fortunate friend  !  He  was  now  an  inmate  of  the 
asylum,  and  on  the  verge  of  dissolution.  .  .  .  The 
asylum  in  which  my  unfortunate  friend  was  confined, 
at  this  time  the  only  one  in  Edinburgh,  was  situated 
in  an  angle  of  the  city  wall.  It  was  a  dismal-looking 
mansion,  shut  in  on  every  side,  by  the  neighbouring 
houses,  from  the  view  of  the  surrounding  country  ; 
and  so  effectually  covered  up  from  the  nearer  street, 
by  a  large  building  in  front,  that  it  seemed  possible 
enough  to  pass  a  lifetime  in  Edinburgh  without 
coming  to  the  knowledge  of  its  existence.  I  shud- 
dered as  I  looked  up  to  its  blackened  walls,  thinly 
sprinkled  with  miserable-looking  windows,  barred 
with  iron,  and  thought  of  it  as  a  sort  of  burial-place 
of  dead  minds.  But  it  was  a  Golgotha,  which,  with 
more  than  the  horrors  of  the  grave,  had  neither  its 
rest  nor  its  silence.  I  was  startled,  as  I  entered  the 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  415 

cell  of  the  hapless  poet.  .  .  .  The  mother  and  sister 
of  Fergusson  were  sitting  beside  his  pallet,  on  a  sort 
of  stone  settle  which  stood  out  from  the  wall ;  and 
the  poet  himself,  weak  and  exhausted,  and  worn  to 
a  shadow,  but  apparently  in  his  right  mind,  lay  ex- 
tended on  the  straw.  He  made  an  attempt  to  rise 
as  I  entered  ;  but  the  effort  was  above  his  strength, 
and,  lying  down,  he  extended  his  hand. 

'  This  is  kind,  Mr.  Lindsay,'  he  said  ;  '  it  is  ill  for 
me  to  be  alone  in  these  days  ;  and  yet  I  have  few 
visitors,  save  my  poor  old  mother  and  Margaret.  But 
who  cares  for  the  unhappy  ?  .  .  .'  We  parted,  and, 
as  it  proved,  for  ever.  Robert  Fergusson  expired 
during  the  night  ;  and  when  the  keeper  entered  the 
.  cell  the  next  morning,  to  prepare  him  for  quitting 
the  asylum,  all  that  remained  of  this  most  hapless 
of  the  children  of  genius  was  a  pallid  and  wasted 
corpse,  that  lay  stiffening  on  the  straw.  I  am  now 
a  very  old  man,  and  the  feelings  wear  out ;  but  I  find 
that  my  heart  is  even  yet  susceptible  of  emotion,  and 
that  the  source  of  tears  is  not  yet  dried  up. 

HUGH  MILLER. 


WILLIAM  AND  DOROTHY  WORDSWORTH  IN 
EDINBURGH 

Thursday,  September  i$th  [1803]. — Arrived  at 
Edinburgh  a  little  before  sunset.  As  we  approached, 
the  Castle  rock  resembled  that  of  Stirling — in  the 
same  manner  appearing  to  rise  from  a  plain  of  .culti- 
vated ground,  the  Firth  of  Forth  being  on  the  other 
side,  and  not  visible.  Drove  to  the  White  Hart  in 
the  Grassmarket,  an  inn  which  had  been  mentioned 
to  us,  and  which  we  conjectured  would  better  suit 


416          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

us  than  one  in  a  more  fashionable  part  of  the  town. 
It  was  not  noisy,  and  tolerably  cheap.  Drank  tea, 
and  walked  up  to  the  Castle,  which  luckily  was  very 
near.  Much  of  the  daylight  was  gone,  so  that  except 
it  had  been  a  clear  evening,  which  it  was  not,  we  could 
not  have  seen  the  distant  prospect. 

Friday,  September  i6th. — The  sky  the  evening  before, 
as  you  may  remember  the  ostler  told  us,  had  been 
'  gay  and  dull,'  and  this  morning  it  was  downright 
dismal :  very  dark,  and  promising  nothing  but  a  wet 
day,  and  before  breakfast  was  over  the  rain  began, 
though  not  heavily.  We  set  out  upon  our  walk, 
and  went  through  many  streets  to  Holyrood  House, 
and  thence  to  the  hill  called  Arthur's  Seat,  a  high  hill, 
very  rocky  at  the  top,  and  below  covered  with  smooth 
turf,  on  which  sheep  were  feeding.  We  climbed  up 
till  we  came  to  St.  Anthony's  Well  and  Chapel,  as 
it  is  called,  but  it  is  more  like  a  hermitage  than  a 
chapel, — a  small  ruin,  which  from  its  situation  is 
exceedingly  interesting,  though  in  itself  not  remark- 
able. We  sat  down  on  a  stone  not  far  from  the 
chapel,  overlooking  a  pastoral  hollow  as  wild  and 
solitary  as  any  in  the  heart  of  the  Highland  moun- 
tains :  there,  instead  of  the  roaring  torrents,  we 
listened  to  the  noises  of  the  city,  which  were  blended 
in  one  loud  indistinct  buzz, — a  regular  sound  in  the 
air,  which  in  certain  moods  of  feeling,  and  at  certain 
times,  might  have  a  more  tranquillizing  effect  upon 
the  rnind  than  those  which  we  are  accustomed  to  hear 
in  such  places.  The  Castle  rock  looked  exceedingly 
large  through  the  misty  air  :  a  cloud  of  black  smoke 
overhung  the  city,  which  combined  with  the  rain 
and  mist  to  conceal  the  shapes  of  the  houses, — an 
obscurity  which  added  much  to  the  grandeur  of  the 


THE  POETS  IN  EDINBURGH  417 

sound  that  proceeded  from  it.  It  was  impossible  to 
think  of  anything  that  was  little  or  mean,  the  goings- 
on  of  trade,  the  strife  of  men,  or  everyday  city  busi- 
ness : — the  impression  was  one,  and  it  was  visionary  ; 
like  the  conceptions  of  our  childhood  of  Bagdad  or 
Balsora  when  we  have  been  reading  the  Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments.  Though  the  rain  was  very 
heavy,  we  remained  upon  the  hill  for  some  time,  then 
returned  by  the  same  road  by  which  we  had  come, 
through  green  flat  fields,  formerly  the  pleasure- 
grounds  of  Holyrood  House,  on  the  edge  of  which 
stands  the  old  roofless  chapel,  of  venerable  architec- 
ture. It  is  a  pity  that  it  should  be  suffered  to  fall 
down,  for  the  walls  appear  to  be  yet  entire.  . . .  When 
we  found  ourselves  once  again  in  the  streets  of  the 
city,  we  lamented  over  the  heavy  rain,  and  indeed, 
before  leaving  the  hill,  much  as  we  were  indebted 
to  the  accident  of  the  rain  for  the  peculiar  grandeur 
and  affecting  wildness  of  those  objects  we  saw,  we 
could  not  but  regret  that  the  Firth  of  Forth  was 
entirely  hidden  from  us,  and  all  distant  objects,  and 
we  strained  our  eyes  till  they  ached,  vainly  trying  to 
pierce  through  the  thick  mist.  We  walked  indus- 
triously through  the  streets,  street  after  street,  and, 
in  spite  of  wet  and  dirt,  were  exceedingly  delighted. 
The  old  town,  with  its  irregular  houses,  stage  above 
stage,  seen  as  we  saw  it,  in  the  obscurity  of  a  rainy 
day,  hardly  resembles  the  work  of  men,  it  is  more 
like  a  piling  up  of  rocks,  and  I  cannot  attempt  to 
describe  what  we  saw  so  imperfectly,  but  must  say 
that,  high  as  my  expectations  had  been  raised,  the 
city  of  Edinburgh  far  surpassed  all  expectation. 
Gladly  would  we  have  stayed  another  day. 

DOROTHY  WORDSWORTH. 
27 


418          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 


TO  MY  OLD  FAMILIARS 

Do  you  remember — can  we  e'er  forget  ? — 

How,  in  the  coiled  perplexities  of  youth, 

In  our  wild  climate,  in  our  scowling  town, 

We  gloomed   and   shivered,   sorrowed,   sobbed   and 

feared  ? 

The  belching  winter  wind,  the  missile  rain, 
The  rare  and  welcome  silence  of  the  snows, 
The  laggard  morn,  the  haggard  day,  the  night, 
The  grimy  spell  of  the  nocturnal  town, 
Do  you  remember  ?     Ah,  could  one  forget  ! 

I  have  since  then  contended  and  rejoiced  ; 
Amid  the  glories  of  the  house  of  life 
Profoundly  entered,  and  the  shrine  beheld  : 
Yet  when  the  lamp  from  my  expiring  eyes 
Shall  dwindle  and  recede,  the  voice  of  love 
Fall  insignificant  on  my  closing  ears, 
What  sound  shall  come  but  the  old  cry  of  the  wind 
In  our  inclement  city  ?  what  return 
But  the  image  of  the  emptiness  of  youth, 
Filled  with  the  sound  of  footsteps  and  that  voice 
Of  discontent  and  rapture  and  despair  ? 
So,  as  in  darkness,  from  the  magic  lamp, 
The  momentary  pictures  gleam  and  fade 
And  perish,  and  the  night  resurges — these 
Shall  I  remember,  and  then  all  forget. 

ROBERT  LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


THE  SEASONS  IN  EDINBURGH 


27 — 2 


Traced  like  a  map,  the  landscape  lies 

In  cultured  beauty,  stretching  wide  : 
There  Pentland's  green  acclivities, — 

There  ocean,  with  its  azure  tide, — 
There  Arthur's  Seat,  and  gleaming  through 
Thy  southern  wing,  Dun-Edin  blue  ! 
While  in  the  orient,  Lammer's  daughters, — 

A  distant  giant  range, — are  seen  ; 

North  Berwick  Law,  with  cone  of  green. 
And  Bass  amid  the  waters. 

DELTA. 


SPRINGTIME  VISION 

THIS  morning,  when  the  stormy  front  of  March 

Is  mask'd  with  June,  and  has  as  sweet  a  breath, 

And  sparrows  fly  with  straws,  and  in  the  elms 

Rooks  flap  and  caw,  then  stream  off  to  the  fields, 

And  thence  returning,  flap  and  caw  again, 

I  gaze  in  idle  pleasantness  of  mood, 

Far  down  upon  the  harbour  and  the  sea — 

The  smoking  steamer  half-way  'cross  the  Firth 

Shrunk  to  a  beetle's  size,  the  dark-brown  sails 

Of  scattered  fishing-boats,  and  still  beyond, 

Seen  dimly  through  a  veil  of  tender  haze, 

The  coast  of  Fife  endorsed  with  ancient  towns, — 

As  quaint  and  strange  to-day  as  when  the  queen, 

In  whose  smile  lay  the  headsman's  glittering  axe, 

Beheld  them  from  her  tower  of  Holyrood, 

And  sigh'd  for  fruitful  France,  and  turning,  cower'd 

From  the  lank  shadow,  Darnley,  at  her  side. 

Behind,  the  wondrous  city  stretches  dim 
With  castle,  spire,  and  column,  from  the  line 
Of  wavy  Pentland,  to  the  pillar'd  range 
That  keeps  in  memory  the  men  who  fell 
In  the  great  war  that  closed  at  Waterloo. 
Whitely  the  pillars  gleam  against  the  hill, 
While  the  light  flashes  by.     The  wondrous  town, 
That  keeps  not  summer,  when  the  summer  comes, 
Without  her  gates,  but  takes  it  to  her  heart ! 
The  mighty  shadow  of  the  castle  falls 
At  noon  athwart  deep  gardens,  roses  blow 
And  fade  in  hearing  of  the  chariot -wheel. 
421 


422          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

High-lifted  capital  that  look's!  abroad, 

With  the  great  lion  couchant  at  thy  side, 

O'er  fertile  plains  emboss'd  with  woods  and  towns  ; 

O'er  silent  Leith's  smoke-huddled  spires  and  masts  ; 

O'er  unlink'd  Forth,  slow  wandering  with  her  isles 

To  ocean's  azure,  spreading  faint  and  wide, 

O'er  which  the  morning  comes — if  but  thy  spires 

Were  dipp'd  in  deeper  sunshine,  tenderer  shade, 

Through  bluer  heavens  rolled  a  brighter  sun, 

The  traveller  would  call  thee  peer  of  Rome, 

Or  Florence,  white-tower'd,  on  the  mountain  side. 

Burns    trod    thy  pavements   with  his  ploughman's 

stoop 

And  genius-flaming  eyes.     Scott  dwelt  in  thee, 
The  homeliest-featured  of  the  demigods  ; 
Apollo,  with  a  deep  Northumbrian  burr, 
And  Jeffrey  with  his  sharp-cut  critic  face, 
And  Lockhart  with  his  antique  Roman  taste, 
And  Wilson,  reckless  of  his  splendid  gifts, 
As  hill -side  of  its  streams  in  thunder  rain  ; 
And  Chalmers,  with  those  heavy  slumberous  lids, 
Veiling  a  prophet's  eyes  ;  and  Miller,  too. 
Primeval  granite  amongst  smooth-rubb'd  men  ;  .  .  . 
Aytoun — with  silver  bugle  at  his  side, 
That  echo'd  through  the  gorges  of  romance. 

ALEXANDER   SMITH. 


APRIL  IN  SCOTLAND 
BENEATH  the  green  fir  branches  where  doves  sit  wing 

to  wing 
A  maid  comes  up  the  pathway  across  the  woods  of 

Spring  ; 


423 

Her  face  is  lit  with  sunshine,  her  eyes  are  soft  with 

showers, 
Her  heart  is  filled  with  music,  and  both  her  hands 

with  flowers. 
Her  tresses  touch  the  beeches,  her  feet  dance  in  the 

dew, 
And  fair  about  her  shoulders  the  white  clouds  fleck 

the  blue  ; 

Primroses  are  her  fortune  and  daffodils  her  care  ; 
Her  hand  is  slipped  in  Summer's  ere  half  the  world's 

aware. 
The  last  snow  fades  before  her,  and  looking  in  her 

eyes, 

Spelled  by  their  witching  magic  the  last  rude  storm- 
wind  dies, 
And  on  the  cradle  branches  down  all  the  woodlands 

deep, 
Like  a  child  tired  of  playing  drops  suddenly  to  sleep. 

She  stands  within  our  garden  at  breaking  of  the  day, 
One   hand  holds   dying   snowdrops   and  one   holds 

budding  may ; 

She  stands  within  our  garden  at  falling  of  the  night, 
One  foot  on  silver  dewdrops  and  one  on  hoar-frost 

white. 

A  month  before  her  coming  the  thrush  to  song  has 

thrilled, 
A  month  behind  her  passing  the  nesting  swallows 

build ; 

And  this  is  happy  April,  fair  maid  of  sun  and  showers, 
With  her  heart  filled  with  music  and  both  her  hands 

with  flowers  ! 

WILL  H.    OGILVIE. 


424          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

JUNE  IN  EDINBURGH 

WHITE  lamps  the  chestnut-tree  adorn, 

The  lilacs  and  the  golden-rain, 
The  snowy  and  the  rosy  thorn 

Are  rife  with  blossom  once  again. 

Though  on  this  pleasance  June  bestows 
His  gifts  with  such  a  lavish  hand, 

Not  like  a  beggar  hence  he  goes  ; 
His  largess  reaches  all  the  land. 

But  from  the  Bridge  I  lean  and  look, 
Going  and  coming,  late  and  soon, 

And  thank  God  for  this  flowery  nook, 
The  Paradise  of  peerless  June. 

HENRY    JOHNSTON. 

SUMMER  IN  EDINBURGH 

SUMMER  has  leaped  suddenly  on  Edinburgh  like  a 
tiger.  The  air  is  still  and  hot  above  the  houses  ; 
but  every  now  and  then  a  breath  of  east  wind  startles 
you  through  the  warm  sunshine — like  a  sudden 
sarcasm  felt  through  a  strain  of  flattery,  and  passes 
on  detested  of  every  organism.  But,  with  this 
exception,  the  atmosphere  is  so  close,  so  laden  with 
a  body  of  heat,  that  a  thunderstorm  would  be  almost 
welcomed  as  a  relief.  Edinburgh,  on  her  crags,  held 
high  towards  the  sun — too  distant  the  sea  to  send 
cool  breezes  to  street  and  square — is  at  this  moment 
an  uncomfortable  dwelling-place.  Beautiful  as  ever, 
of  course — for  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  ridge 
of  the  Old  Town  etched  on  hot  summer  azure — but 
close,  breathless,  suffocating.  Great  volumes  of 


THE  SEASONS  IN  EDINBURGH         425 

white  smoke  surge  out  of  the  railway  station  ;  great 
choking  puffs  of  dust  issue  from  the  houses  and  shops 
that  are  being  gutted  in  Princes  Street.  The  Castle 
rock  is  gray  ;  the  trees  are  of  a  dingy  olive  ;  languid 
'  swells,'  arm-in-arm,  promenade  uneasily  the  heated 
pavement  ;  water-carts  everywhere  dispense  their 
treasures  ;  and  the  only  human  being  really  to  be 
envied  in  the  city  is  the  small  boy  who,  with  trousers 
tucked  up,  and  unheeding  of  maternal  vengeance, 
marches  coolly  in  the  fringe  of  the  ambulating  shower- 
bath.  Oh  for  one  hour  of  heavy  rain  !  Thereafter 
would  the  heavens  wear  a  clear  and  tender,  instead 
of  a  dim  and  sultry  hue.  Then  would  the  Castle 
rock  brighten  in  colour,  and  the  trees  and  grassy 
slopes  doff  their  dingy  olives  for  the  emeralds  of  April. 
Then  would  the  streets  be  cooled,  and  the  dust  be 
allayed.  Then  would  the  belts  of  city  verdure,  re- 
freshed, pour  forth  gratitude  in  balmy  smells  ;  and 
Fife — low-lying  across  the  Forth — break  from  its  hot 
neutral  tint  into  the  greens,  purples,  and  yellows 
that  of  right  belong  to  it.  But  rain  won't  come  ; 
and  for  weeks,  perhaps,  there  will  be  nothing  but  hot 
sun  above,  and  hot  street  beneath ;  and  for  the 
respiration  of  poor  human  lungs  an  atmosphere  of 
heated  dust,  tempered  with  east  wind. 

Moreover,  one  is  tired  and  jaded.  The  whole  man, 
body  and  soul,  like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune, 
and  harsh,  is  fagged  with  work,  eaten  up  of  impa- 
tience, and  haunted  with  visions  of  vacation.  One 
'  babbles  o'  green  fields,'  like  a  very  Falstaff  ;  and  the 
poor  tired  ears  hum  with  sea-music  like  a  couple  of 
sea-shells.  At  last  it  comes,  the  ist  of  August,  and 
then — like  an  arrow  from  a  Tartar's  bow,  like  a  bird 
from  its  cage,  like  a  lover  to  his  mistress — one  is  off  ; 


42b          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

and  before  the  wild  scarlets  of  sunset  die  on  the 
northern  sea,  one  is  in  the  silence  of  the  hills,  those 
eternal  sun-dials  that  tell  the  hours  to  the  shepherd, 
and  in  one's  nostrils  is  the  smell  of  peat-reek,  and  in 
one's  throat  the  flavour  of  usquebaugh.  Then  come 
long  floating  summer  days,  so  silent  the  wilderness, 
that  one  can  hear  one's  heart  beat ;  then  come  long 
silent  nights,  the  waves  heard  upon  the  shore,  although 
that  is  a  mile  away,  in  which  one  snatches  the  '  fearful 
joy  '  of  a  ghost  story,  told  by  shepherd  or  fisher,  who 
believes  in  it  as  in  his  own  existence.  Then  one 
beholds  sunset,  not  through  the  smoked  glass  of 
towns,  but  gloriously  through  the  clearness  of  en- 
kindled air.  Then  one  makes  acquaintance  with 
sunrise,  which  to  the  dweller  in  a  city,  who  conforms 
to  the  usual  proprieties,  is  about  the  rarest  of  this 
world's  sights. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

THANKS  FOR  A  SUMMER'S  DAY 

O  PERFECT  light  which  shade  away 

The  darkness  fra  the  light, 
An'  set  a  ruler  o'er  the  day, 

Another  o'er  the  night. 

Thy  glory,  when  the  day  forth  flies, 

More  vively  does  appear, 
Nor  at  mid-day  unto  our  eyes 

The  shinin'  sun  is  clear. 

The  shadow  of  the  earth  anon 

Removes  and  drawis  by, 
Syne  in  the  east,  when  it  is  gone, 

Appears  a  clearer  sky. 


THE  SEASONS  IN  EDINBURGH         427 

For  joy  the  birds  with  boulden  throats, 

Against  his  visage  sheen, 
Tak'  up  their  kindly  music  notes 

In  woods  and  gardens  green. 

The  misty  reek,  the  clouds  of  rain 

From  tops  of  mountain  skails, 
Clear  are  the  highest  hills  and  plain, 

The  vapours  tak'  the  vales. 

The  rayons  dure  descending  down. 

All  kindle  in  a  gleid  ; 
In  city,  nor  in  burrough  town, 

May  none  set  forth  their  heid. 

Back  fra  the  blue  pavemented  whun, 

An'  fra  ilk  plaster  wall, 
The  hot  reflexing  of  the  sun 

Inflames  the  air  an'  all. 

The  caller  wine  in  cave  is  sought, 
Men's  brothing  breasts  to  cool ; 

The  water  cold  an'  clear  is  brought, 
An'  sallets  steept  in  ule. 

Now  noon  is  gone — gone  is  mid-day, 

The  heat  does  slake  at  last, 
The  sun  descends  down  westaway, 

For  three  o'clock  is  past. 

Great  is  the  calm,  for  everywhere 

The  wind  is  setting  down, 
The  reek  throws  up  right  in  the  air, 

From  every  tower  an'  town. 


428          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  gloamin'  comes,  the  day  is  spent, 

The  sun  goes  out  o'  sight, 
An'  painted  is  the  Occident 

Wi'  purple  sanguine  bright. 

Through  a'  the  land  great  is  the  gild 

Of  rustic  folk  that  cry  ; 
Of  bleating  sheep,  fra  they  be  filled, 

Of  calves  an'  rowting  kye. 

All  labourers  drawen  home  at  even, 

And  can  to  others  say, 
Thanks  to  the  gracious  God  of  heaven, 

Who  sent  this  summer  day. 

ALEXANDER   HUME. 


THE  KING'S  BIRTHDAY  IN  EDINBURGH 

I  SING  the  day  sae  aften  sang, 

Wi'  which  our  lugs  hae  yearly  rang, 

In  whase  loud  praise  the  Muse  has  dang 

A'  kind  o'  print ; 
But  wow  !  the  limmer's  fairly  flang  ; 

There's  naething  in't. 

I'm  fain  to  think  the  joy's  the  same 
In  London  town  as  here  at  hame, 
Whare  fouk  o'  ilka  age  and  name, 

Baith  blind  an'  cripple, 
Forgather  aft,  O  fy  for  shame  ! 

To  drink  an'  tipple. 

O  Muse,  be  kind,  an'  dinna  fash  us 
To  flee  awa'  beyont  Parnassus, 


THE  SEASONS  IN  EDINBURGH         429 

Nor  seek  for  Helicon  to  wash  us, 

That  heath'nish  spring  ; 

Wi'  Highland  whisky  scour  our  hawses, 
An'  gar  us  sing. 

Begin  then,  dame,  ye've  drunk  your  fill, 
You  wouldna  hae  the  thither  gill  ? 
You'll  trust  me,  mair  would  do  you  ill, 

An'  ding  you  doitet  : 
Troth  'twould  be  sair  against  my  will, 
To  hae  the  wyte  o't. 

Sing  then,  how,  on  the  fourth  of  June, 
Our  bells  screed  off  a  loyal  tune, 
Our  ancient  Castle  shoots  at  noon, 

Wi'  flag-staff  buskit, 
Frae  which  the  soger  blades  come  down 

To  cock  their  musket. 

Oh  willawins  !     Mons  Meg,  for  you, 
'Twas  firing  crak't  thy  muckle  mou  ; 
What  black  mishanter  gart  ye  spew 

Baith  gut  an'  ga'  ! 
I  fear  they  bang'd  thy  belly  fu' 

Against  the  law. 

Right  seenil  am  I  gi'en  to  bannin, 
But,  by  my  saul,  ye  was  a  cannon, 
Cou'd  hit  a  man  had  he  been  stannin 

In  shire  o'  Fife, 
Sax  lang  Scots  miles  ayont  Clackmannan, 

An'  tak  his  life. 

The  hills  in  terror  wou'd  cry  out, 
An  echo  to  thy  dinsome  rout ; 


430          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

The  herds  wou'd  gather  in  their  nowt, 
That  glowr'd  wi'  wonder, 

Haslins  asleyed  to  bide  thereout 
To  hear  thy  thunder. 

Sing  likewise,  Muse,  how  Blue-gown  bodies, 
Like  scar-craws  new  ta'en  down  frae  woodies, 
Come  here  to  cast  their  clouted  duddies, 

An'  get  their  pay  : 
Than  them  what  magistrate  mair  proud  is 

On  king's  birth-day  ? 

On  this  great  day  the  city-guard, 

In  military  art  weel  lear'd, 

Wi'  powder'd  pow  and  shaven  beard, 

Gang  thro'  their  functions, 
By  hostile  rabble  seldom  spar'd 

O'  clatty  unctions. 

O  soldiers  !  for  your  ain  dear  sakes, 
For  Scotland's  alias,  Land  o'  Cakes, 
Gie  not  her  bairns  sic  deadly  pakes, 

Nor  be  sae  rude, 
Wi'  firelock  or  Lochaber  aix, 

As  spill  their  blude.  .  .  . 

ROBERT   FERGUSSON. 

A  NORTHERN  SONG 

THERE  is  music  in  the  autumn  aisles  of  sleep, 
And  the  plaintive  woodland  voices  call  me  forth, 

Where  the  tide  of  leaves  is  flowing  light  and  deep 
In  the  golden  windy  sunshine  of  the  North. 

There  are  sudden  floods  of  leaves  whose  tinkling 

speech 
Breaks  in  pools  of  gathered  sunlight  from  the  oak  ; 


THE  SEASONS  IN  EDINBURGH         431 

There  are  scarlet  waves  of  colour  from  the  beech, 
And  they  hide  the  happy  earth  as  with  a  cloak. 

There  are  belts  of  brooding  mist  that  turn  to  gold 
On  the  brackens,  dusky-red,  beneath  the  hill ; 

There  are  fretted  ferns  all  crumpled  on  the  wold 
With  the  light  of  summer  evenings  in  them  still. 

Ah,  the  reminiscent  reaches  of  the  wood, 
With  the  rose-flame  of  the  sunset  in  the  sky  ; 

Not  a  leaf  but  tells  how  beautiful  it  stood — 
Not  a  leaf  but  murmurs  softly,  '  All  things  die  !' 

And  the  forest-shrine  is  bright  with  burnished  gold, 
Tiny  sandals  are  the  leaves  from  spirit-feet : 

Let  us  worship  in  the  temple  as  of  old, 

For  the  place  is  holy  ground  whereon  we  meet. 

FRED.    G.    BOWLES. 


SUMMER  NIGHTFALL  IN  EDINBURGH 

THE  dark  has  come  and  this  Edinburgh  [has]  .  .  . 
closed  its  own  magnificent  day.  You  are  standing  on 
the  rocky  summit  of  Arthur's  Seat.  From  that 
superb  mountain  peak  your  gaze  takes  in  the  whole 
capital,  together  with  the  country  in  every  direction 
for  many  miles  around.  The  evening  is  uncommonly 
clear.  Only  in  the  west  dense  masses  of  black  cloud 
are  thickly  piled  upon  each  other,  through  which  the 
sun  is  sinking,  red  and  sullen  with  menace  of  the 
storm.  Elsewhere  and  overhead  the  sky  is  crystal, 
and  of  a  pale,  delicate  blue.  A  cold  wind  blows 
briskly  from  the  east  and  sweeps  a  million  streamers 
of  white  smoke  in  turbulent  panic  over  the  darkening 
roofs  of  the  city,  far  below.  In  the  north  the  lovely 


432          THE  CHARM  OF  EDINBURGH 

Lomond  Hills  are  distinctly  visible  across  the  dusky 
level  of  the  Forth,  which  stretches  away  toward  the 
ocean,  one  broad  sheet  of  glimmering  steel — its 
margin  indented  with  many  a  graceful  bay,  and  the 
little  islands  that  adorn  it  shining  like  stones  of 
amethyst  set  in  polished  flint.  A  few  brown  sails 
are  visible,  dotting  the  waters,  and  far  to  the  east 
appears  the  graceful  outline  of  the  Isle  of  May, — 
which  was  the  shrine  of  the  martyred  St.  Adrian, — 
and  the  lonely,  wave -beaten  Bass  Rock,  with  its 
millions  of  seagulls  and  solan  geese.  Busy  Leith  and 
picturesque  Newhaven  and  every  little  village  on  the 
coast  is  sharply  defined  in  the  frosty  light. 

WILLIAM   WINTER. 


WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH 

SNOW  on  the  Ochils  and  sun  on  the  snow — 
Ah,  my  brave  Winter,  if  you  can  bestow 
Out  of  your  penury  treasures  like  these, 
Never  grudge  Summer  her  blossoms  and  bees  ! 

Gardens  in  glory  and  balm  in  the  breeze — 
Ah,  pretty  Summer,  e'en  boast  as  you  please, 
Sweet  are  your  gifts,  but  to  Winter  we  owe 
Snow  on  the  Ochils  and  sun  on  the  snow. 

HENRY   JOHNSTON. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


TITLE 

SOURCE    OP    EXTRACT 

AUTHOR 

PACK 

A  Character  of  the  High 

Street  .... 

'  Speeches  ' 

Charles  Dickens      . 

»35 

Addressed    to    the    Old 

Town  .         .         ... 

•        •        • 

Anon  (1803)  . 

309 

Address  to  Edinburgh     . 

'  Poems  ' 

Robert  Burns  . 

44 

A    Dinner    in    St.    John 

Street  .... 

1  Life  of  Scott  ' 

/.  G.  Lockhart 

198 

A  Distant  View  of  Edin- 

burgh .... 

'  Craigcrook  Castle  '. 

Gerald  Massey 

54 

'  A  Gran'  Speech  *  .        . 

'  Noctes   Ambrosi- 

anaa  '    . 

Christopher  North  . 

'3 

A   Group   of    Ladies   in 

'  Memorials    of    His 

Old  Edinburgh 

Time  '  . 

Henry  Cockburn 

206 

A  Hot-bed  of  Genius 

'  Humphrey  Clinker  ' 

Tobias  Smollett 

17 

Alexander  Smith     .        . 

'  Gray     Days     and 

Gold*  . 

William  Winter     . 

37i 

An  Antique  World  . 

'  A  Summer  hi  Skye  * 

Alexander  Smith    . 

307 

An      Edinburgh       High 

School 

1  Lavengro  '     . 

George  Borrow 

227 

An     Edinburgh     Magis- 

' The  Heart  of  Mid- 

trate 

lothian  '        .        . 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

361 

An  Incident  from  '  Wa- 

verley  ' 

'  Waverley  '     .        . 

Sir  Waller  Scott      . 

"4 

A  Northern  Song     . 

'  Northern  Lyrics  '  . 

Fred.  G.  Bowles      . 

430 

A  Poem  .... 

'  Poetical  Works  '    . 

Robert  Blair  . 

360 

A    Portrait    of    Robert 

1  Heroes    and    Hero 

Burns 

Worship  '     . 

Thomas  Carlyle      . 

339 

A  Portrait  of  John  Knox 

'  Heroes    and    Hero 

Worship  '     . 

Thomas  Carlyle 

343 

A  Portrait  of  Lord  Brax- 

'  Virginibus    Puer- 

Robert  Louis  Steven- 

field painted  by  Rae- 

isque* 

son     . 

337 

burn 

Apparition 

4  Poems  ' 

W.  E.  Henley 

336 

Approaching    a    Magical 

'  My     Schools     and 

City 
April  in  Scotland    . 

Schoolmasters  '     . 
'  Hearts  of  Gold  '     . 

Hugh  Miller 
Will  H.  Ogilvi*      . 

73 
422 

A  Royal  Pageant  through 
Edinburgh  . 

'  Essays  ' 

Hugh  Miller 

248 

Art  in  Edinburgh    . 

'  Noctes   Ambrosi- 

aaas  '    . 

Christopher  North 

213 

A  Shepherd-swain  of  the 

North  Countrie    . 

'  The  Minstrel  ' 

fames  Beattie 

«57 

A  Spot  of  Enchantment  . 

'  Poems  ' 

Robert  Fergusson    . 

4 

A    Thersites    of     'The 

'The  Stickit  Minis- 

Pleasance ' 

ter'      . 

S.  R.  Crockett 

3*3 

Auld  Reikie    . 

'  Poems'         . 

Robert  Fergusson    . 

93 

433 


28 


434 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


TITLE 

SOURCE    OP    EXTRACT 

AUTHOR 

PAGE 

Ben    Jonson     in     Edin- 

burgh 

'  Travels  ' 

John  Taylor 

375 

Bob  Ainslie  and  I    . 

'  Rob        and        his 

Friends  ' 

John  Brown,  M.D.  . 

130 

Burns  in  Edinburgh 

'  Life  of  Burns  ' 

J.  G.  Lockhart 

378 

Cadies    .... 

'Humphrey  Clinker" 

Tobias  Smollett 

367 

Charles  the  First's  Pro- 

gress   through    Edin- 

burgh 

'  Essays 

Hugh  Miller 

271 

Christopher  North  . 

'  Works  ' 

Thomas  de  Quincey 

335 

Colonel      Mannering     in 

Edinburgh  . 

'  Guy  Mannering  '    . 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

90 

Crabbe    .... 

'  Life  of  Crabbe  '      . 

By  his  Son     . 

401 

Discharged 

4  A  Book  of  Verses  '  . 

W.  E.  Henley 

150 

Dr.    Johnson    in    Edin- 

' Tour        in        the 

burgh 

Hebrides  '     . 

James  Boswell 

1  80 

Dun-Edin 

"The  Queen's  Wake  ' 

James  Hogg  . 

84 

Edinburgh 

'  Poems  ' 

Alfred  Noyes 

68 

Edinburgh 

'  Poems  '  . 

William  Drummond 

5* 

Edinburgh      .      '  . 

'  Last  Leaves  '  . 

Alexander  Smith    . 

63 

Edinburgh  after  Flodden 

'  Lays  of  the  Scot- 

tish Cavaliers  '     . 

W.  E.  Aytoun 

162 

Edinburgh  :  An  Impres- 

sion    .... 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

John  Drinhwater    . 

36 

Edinburgh  :   A  Native's 

Praise 

'  Edinburgh  '  . 

Anon 

57 

Edinburgh  :     A     Seven- 

teenth-Century     Vig- 

nette  .... 

'  An  Itinerary  ' 

Fynes  Moryson 

107 

Edinburgh     Beans     and 

'  Poems  ' 

Sir  Alexander  Bos- 

Belles 

well     . 

213 

Edinburgh  Castle    . 

'Arrows  of  the  Chace' 

John  Ruskin 

301 

Edinburgh    Castle  :    The 

Birth  of  James  1. 

'  The  Queen's  Quair  ' 

Maurice  Hewlett 

3»3 

Edinburgh    from   Black- 

ford  Hill      . 

'  Marmion  ' 

Sir  Waller  Scott     . 

39 

Edinburgh  :  Rich  in  Ele- 

' Edinburgh  and  its 

gancies  and  Amenities 

Neighbourhood  '  . 

Hugh  Miller  . 

62 

Edinburgh's  Call     . 

'  Songs  of  Travel  '    . 

Robert  Louis  Steven- 

son 

10 

Edinburgh's       Call       to 

Dedication  to 

Burns 

'  Poems  ' 

Robert  Burns 

376 

Edinburgh'  s         Glorious 

Literary  Period    . 

'  Essays  ' 

Hugh  Miller 

200 

Edinburgh  Society  . 

'  Peter's   Letters    to 

his  Kinsfolk  * 

J.  G.  Lockhart 

203 

Edinburgh  Society  of  Sir 

Walter  Scott's  Time    . 

'Life  of  Scott'. 

J.  G.  Lockhart 

194 

Edinburgh's    Stately 

'  Random  Rambles  " 

Louise        Chandler 

Beauty 

Moulton 

ii 

Edinburgh     Streets     by 

Night 

'  Edinburgh  '   . 

Robert  MacCrie      . 

151 

Edinburgh  :  The  Famous 

Metropolis       of       the 

'  Edinburgh  :       Pic- 

Robert Louis  Steven- 

North 

turesque  Notes  '  . 

son 

3 

Eighteenth  -  Century 

'  A  Journey  to  Eden- 

Edinburgh 

borough  in  1705  '  . 

Joseph  Taylor 

109 

Eloquent  Edinburgh 

'  Gray     Days     and 

Gold'  . 

William  Winter      . 

46 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


435 


TITLK 

SOURCE    OP    EXTRACT 

AUTHOR 

PAGE 

Embro  Hie  Kirk     . 

'  Underwoods  '          . 

Robert  Louis  Steven- 

son 

139 

'  Emeralds     Chased     In 

Gold' 

'  Poems  ' 

A.  Hume  Hamilton 

43 

Entering  Edinburgh 

'  Humphrey  Clinker" 

Tobias  Smollett 

83 

Famous  Edinburgh 

'  Northern        Mem- 

ories '  .        . 

Richard  Franch      . 

55 

Farewell  on  leaving  Edin- 

burgh 

Poems            •        . 

Thomas  Campbell  . 

124 

From     a     Window     in 

Princes  Street 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

W.  E.  Henley 

127 

From  Dunbar   to   Edin- 

burgh 

'  Humphrey  Clinker  ' 

Tobias  Smollett 

78 

From  '  Song  of  the  Out- 

law Murray  ' 

'  Border  Minstrelsy  ' 

Sir  Walter  Scott      . 

187 

From    'The    Ballad    of 

Chevy  Chase  ' 

'  Percy  R  cliques  '     . 

Anon  (1558)  . 

359 

From  '  The  Mother's  Idol 

Broken  ' 

'  My  Lyrical  Life  f   . 

Gerald  Massey 

193 

George  Heriot         .        . 

'  The     Fortunes     of 

Nigel  ' 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

348 

Golf         .... 

'  Humphrey  Clinker  ' 

Tobias  Smollett 

238 

Greyfriars       ... 

'  Noctes       Ambrosi- 

anae  '    . 

Christopher  North  . 

M5 

Holyrood 

'  Hearts  of  Gold  '     . 

Will  H.  Ogilvie      . 

292 

Holyrood  :  The  Tragedy 

of  the  Queen's  Cabinet 

'  The  Queen's  Quair  ' 

Maurice  Hewlett     . 

283 

Home      .... 

'  A  Summer  in  Skye' 

Alexander  Smith    . 

34 

In  Fisherrow  .         .        . 

'  Poems  '           . 

W.  £.  Henley 

145 

In  Grassmarket      .        . 

'  Waverley  '      .        . 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

185 

June  in  Edinburgh         . 

'  Poems  '  .        •        . 

Henry  Johnston     . 

424 

Lament    for     the    Auld 

Edinburgh  Hostels 

'  Poems  '          •        • 

Robert  Chambers     . 

328 

Lament  of  Mary  Queen 

of  Scots 

'  Poems  '          •        . 

Robert  Bum* 

249 

Lord     Marmion     enters 

Edinburgh  . 

'  Marmion  '      •        . 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

75 

Love  from  the  North 

1  Poems  '          .        . 

Christina  Rossetti  . 

240 

Magnificent  Edinburgh   . 

'  Letters  from  Edin- 

Maria   Edgeworth    visits 

burgh  ' 

Captain  Topham    . 

H 

Sir    Walter    Scott    in 

'  Life  and  Letters  of 

Edited  by  Augustus 

Edinburgh 

Maria  Edgeworth  ' 

J.  C.  Hare 

174 

Marjory  Mushroom  writes 

to   '  The  Lounger  ' 
Merry  Edinburgh    . 
Miss  Betty  and  her  Edin- 

' The  Lounger  ' 
'  Wealth  ' 
'  Annals       of       the 

Henry  Mackenzie  . 
William  Dunbar     . 

«5 

"3 

burgh  Mantle 

Parish  ' 

John  Gait 

223 

My  Bonnie  Mary     .         . 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Robert  Burns  . 

158 

My  Picture  left  in  Scot- 

land   .... 

'  Underwoods  '        . 

Ben  Jonson  .        . 

37S 

28—2 


436 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


TITLE 

Noble  Edinburgh 


On  a  Mirror  in  Holyrood 
Palace 

On  a  Statue  in  Parlia- 
ment Close 

'  Our  Town  '   . 

Out  over  the  Forth  . 

Over  the  Brig.        .        . 

Prince     Charles     enters 


SOURCE    OF    EXTRACT 

'  Address  to  the 
Citizens  of  Edin- 
burgh '  .  . 

'  Gray     Days     and 

Gold'  . 
'  Tour         in         the 

Hebrides '  . 
'  In  Our  Town  ' 
'  Poems '  . 

'  Lavengro '     . 


AUTHOR  PAGE 


John  Ruskin  .        .116 


William  Winter 


291 


James  Boswell  .  142 

Rosaline  Masson  ,  5 

Robert  Burns  .  146 

George  Borrow  .  294 


Battle  of  Preston  . 

'  Essays  '         .        . 

Hugh  Miller  . 

260 

Queen  of  the  North  . 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Thomas  Campbell  . 

52 

Queen    of     the    Uncon- 

quered  North 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Professor   Wilson  . 

16 

Queen  Victoria's  Visit  to 

Edinburgh 

'  Essays  '          .        . 

Hugh  Miller  . 

V3 

R.  L.  S. 

'  Margaret  Ogilvy'   . 

J.  M.  Barrie  . 

350 

R.  L.  S.  in  his  Childhood 

'  Memories  and  Por- 

Robert Louis  Steven- 

City 

traits  ' 

son     .        .        . 

148 

Revisiting  Edinburgh 

'  The  Mirror  '   . 

Mackenzie 

119 

Robert     Burns     returns 

Home  from  Edinburgh 

'  Letters  ' 

Robert  Burns 

38i 

Robert  Fergusson    . 

'  Poems  ' 

Robert  Bums  . 

359 

Robert  Fergusson   .        . 

'  Recollections        of 

Fergusson  '  . 

Hugh  Miller  . 

409 

Salisbury  Crags       .        . 

'  The  Heart  of  Mid- 

lothian '        .         . 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

122 

Samuel  Rogers 

'  Table  Talk  '  . 

Samuel  Rogers 

408 

Scotland's  Shrine    .        . 

'  Poems  '  .        . 

Will  H.  Ogilvie       . 

141 

Scottish  Inns  . 

'  Waverley  '     . 

Sir  Walter  Scott     . 

143 

Scott's    Home    Life    in 

Edinburgh  . 
Shelley  in  Edinburgh 

'  Life  of  Scott  '  . 
'  Life  of  Shelley  *     . 

J.  G.  Lockhart 
Thomas      Jefferson 

395 

Hogg 

383 

Sir  David  Lyndsay  . 

'  Marmion  '      .        . 

Sir  Walter  Scott      . 

347 

Sir  Walter  Scott      . 

'  Modern  Painters  '  . 

John  Ruskin 

333 

Some      Characters       of 

Hagman's  Close  . 

'  Kid  McGhie  ' 

S.  R.  Crockett 

325 

Some  Lounging  Shops  in 

'  Peter's   Letters    to 

Old  Edinburgh 

his  Kinsfolk  ' 

J.  G.  Lockhart 

no 

Song  of  the  Royal  Edin- 

burgh Light  Dragoons 

'  Poems  ' 

Sir  Walter  Scott      . 

236 

Springtime  Vision   . 

'  A  Summer  in  Skye  ' 

Alexander  Smith    . 

421 

Summer  in  Edinburgh    . 

'  A  Summer  in  Skye  ' 

Alexander  Smith    . 

424 

Summer      Nightfall      in 

'  Gray     Days     and 

Edinburgh 

Gold  ' 

William  Winter     . 

43» 

Sunday  in  Edinburgh     . 

'  Sunday    in    Edin- 

burgh '          . 

Anon  (1849)  . 

146 

Thackeray  :     An    Edin- 

burgh Reminiscence    . 

'  Horas  Subsecivae  '  . 

John  Brown,  M.D. 

184 

Thanks    for    a    Summer 

Day    .... 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Alexander  Hume    . 

426 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


437 


TITLE 

The  Accession  of  J  ames  I. 

The  Ballad  of  Hynd  Horn 
The  Beauty  of  Edinburgh 
The  Cadie 

The  Canongate  :   One  of 

the  World's  Sights      . 
The    Castle    Rock :    The 

Eye  of  the  Landscape 
The  Edinburgh  of  Marie 

Stuart 
The  Echo  of  the  Royal 

Porch 
The  Eve  of  Flodden 

The  Firth  of  Forth  . 
The  Good  Town  of  Edin- 
burgh .... 
The  Grassmarket     . 

The  Gray  Metropolis  of 

the  North 
The  Heart  of  Scotland    . 

The  High  Street  of  Edin- 
burgh 

The  Influence  of  the  Past 

The  King  s  Birthday  in 
Edinburgh  . 

'  The  Lounger  '  in  Edin- 
burgh .... 

The  Last  Speech  of  Edin- 
burgh Cross 

The  Lovely  Mary  enters 
Edinburgh  . 

The  Memorial  to  R.  L.  S. 
in  St.  Giles's  Church  . 

The  Merry  Glee  of  Edin- 
burgh Town 

The  Plaid  in  the  High 
Street 

The  Pleasant  Entrance 
into  Edinburgh  . 

The  Queen's  Marie  . 

There's  a  Youth  in  this 
City  .... 

The  Romaunt  of  St 
Mary's  Wynd 

The  Scot  Abroad     . 

The  Scottish  Exiles 
The  Thistle  and  the  Rose 
The  Water  Poet   is   en- 
tertained in  Edinburgh 
This      Delightful      and 

Beautiful  City     . 
Thomas  Campbell   . 
Thoughts      on      making 
Edinburgh's  Acquaint- 
ance   . 


SOURCE    OP    EXTRACT 

'  Stuart  Tracts ' 

'  Traditional ' 
'  A  Summer  in  Skye ' 
'  Peter's   Letters   to 
his  Kinsfolk  ' 

'  A  Summer  in  Skye ' 
'  Peter's   Letters   to 
his  Kinsfolk ' 

'The  Abbot*  . 

'  Miscellanies          in 

Prose  and  Verse ' 
4  Legends      of      the 

Isles'   . 
'  Poems  ' 

'  Humphrey  Clinker ' 
4  The  Heart  of  Mid- 
lothian '        .        . 
'  The  Daisy  '    . 

'  Gray     Days     and 

Gold'  . 
'  Poems ' 

'  A  Summer  in  Skye  ' 

'  Poems ' 

'  The  Lounger ' 

'  Miscellanies '          . 

'  The  Queen's  Wake ' 


'Speech' 
•  Tea-table 
lany '   . 


Miscel- 


of       the 


'  Poems' 
'  Annals 

Parish  ' 
'Border  Minstrelsy' 

'  Poems ' 

'  Tales  of  the  Bor- 
ders '    . 

1  The    Silverado 
Squatters '    .        . 

'  From  the  Gaelic  *  . 

'  .'ocms ' . 

'  I-enniless    Pilgrim- 
age '     . 

1  Edinburgh '   . 
Life  of  Campbell  • . 

1  Peter's    Letters    to 
his  Kinsfolk  ' 


AUTHOR  PACK 

Sir  Robert  Carey  and 

T.  M.         .        .  255 

Anonymous    .        .  155 

Alexander  Smith    .  7 

/.  G.  Lockhart        .  369 

Alexander  Smith    .  22 

/.  G.  Lockhart        .  298 

Sir  Walter  ScoU     .  103 

Claudero         .        .  «8i 

Charlts  Mackay      .  159 

William  Drummond  189 

Tobias  Smollett      .  19 

Sir  Walter  ScoU      .  185 
Alfred,  Lord  Tenny- 
son     ...  89 

William  Winter      .  49 
Sir  Alexander  Bos- 
well     .         .         .  127 
Alexander  Smith     .  27 

Robert  Fergusson    .  428 

Henry  Mackenzie  .  218 

Claudero         .        .  135 

James  Hogg    .         .  245 

Lord  Rosebery        .  357 

Allan  Ramsay        .  81 

Allan  Ramsay        .  129 

John  Gait       .        .  82 

Sir  Walter  Scott     .  251 

Robert  Burns          .  121 

Alexander  Leighton  316 
Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son    .         .         -3* 

Tfo  Ear/  o/  Eglinton  3  3 

Wi//iam  Dunbar     .  264 

/o*n  ray/or  .        .  98 

William  Cobbett      .  43 

Cyrus  Redding        .  406 

/.  G.  Lockhart        .  87 


438 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


TITLE 

SOURCE    OP    EXTRACT 

AUTHOR 

PAGE 

Three  Edinburgh  Friends 

'  Marjorie  Fleming  ' 

John  Brown,  M.D. 

363 

To   Alexander    Cunning- 

ham, Esq. 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Robert  Burns 

239 

To  Clarinda    . 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Robert  Burns 

189 

To  Edinburgh 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

A.  Hume  Hamilton 

69 

To  Friends  left  in  Edin- 

burgh         .        .        . 

'  Poems  '          •        • 

John  l.eyden  . 

i«3 

To  My  Old  Familiars 

'  Poems  '          .        • 

Robert  Louis  Steven- 

son 

418 

To  Robert  Barns    . 

'  Poems  '          •        • 

David  Sillar  . 

380 

To  the  King    . 

'  Poems  *          .        . 

Sir  Henry  Wotton  . 

270 

To    the    Merchants    of 

Edinburgh  . 

'  Poems-*           •        . 

William  Dunbar 

101 

To  the  Princess  Margaret 

'  Poems  '           .        . 

William  Dunbar 

282 

To  the  Tron  Kirk  Bell     . 

'  Poems  '          .        . 

Robert  Fergusson    . 

137 

Troops     leaving     Edin- 

burgh 

'My  Lyrical  Life*   . 

Gerald  Massey 

»34 

Twilight    in    Edinburgh 

Streets 

'  Kit  Kennedy  ' 

S.  R.  Crockett 

50 

Voices  of  Mystery  . 

'  The  Queen's  Wake' 

James  Hogg  . 

61 

William     and     Dorothy 

Wordsworth  in  Edin- 

' Recollections   of   a 

Dorothy     Words- 

burgh          .        . 

Tour  in  Scotland  ' 

worth 

4»5 

Willie's  Awa  1 

'  Poems  ' 

Robert  Burns           . 

241 

Winter  in  Edinburgh 

'  Poems  '  . 

Henry  Johnston 

43* 

Within  a  Mile  of  Edin- 

burgh Town 

'  Scottish  Poems  '    . 

T.  D'Ufrey    . 

86 

Written  in  Edinburgh     . 

'  Poems  ' 

Arthur  Henry  Hal- 

lam 

48 

Written  in  Edinburgh     . 

'  Memorials     of     a 

WiUiam         Words- 

Tour in  Scotland  ' 

worth  . 

349 

THE  END 


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